A couple years ago, I was standing on the rock shores of the black sand beach. It was truly surreal and was a sight I should've been truly awed by. Yet despite everything that day I was miserable and detached. I knew that the way the golden sunlight reflected of the cliff face and the way the headlands braved the fierce ocean were beautiful. I didn’t, well actually, I couldn’t appreciate it. It didn’t matter to me, nothing mattered.
The only thing that entranced me were the waves. Frankly they were the most hideous part of it all. Deadly and unforgiving. Their current could pull you under to the other corner of the earth and no one would ever find you again. The waves were also the only part of the beach we couldn’t go near. Many people had died on those shores so despite the beauty everyone was aware of a certain sinister element to it all.
It was ironic . I was enchanted by the one thing I couldn't feel and really only the thing cliffs and the ebony stones could feel. The rough, cruel waves that were so turbulent even the sun refused to touch it had created all this beauty.
In hindsight I know why I was transfixed by the waves because in my own way I was drowning in my own turbulent waters. It was something people could never feel but they can see the beauty they have carved into me.
