The sea begins with a line,
its wave sweeping the shore
bearing a feeling that crosses boundaries,
telling stories it has waited to speak.

It trembles,
handing over pages
which have long been stored on the surface.
Then returns gently, honoring that quiet intimacy.

Its grains of sand draw the feet into the depths of memory.
For a moment, the comfort that was once hidden returns,
reminding me of the soft warmth of childhood.
The first moments I learned the feeling of coming home.

The sunlight drifts its glimmer
into the shadow it casts upon the ground,
like golden dust settling,
bringing beauty to the dark stretch.

Here before me, they try to tell a story
of a tale that once existed, in the lines I now call memory.
And within its air, when I take a deeper breath,
a final line is left for me to say, “Why am I trying to forget this?”