Welcome, aspiring writer.The salt in the sea water creeps up my knee as I sit in the sand making a castle with my hands.
My mother puts another cigarette to her lips, runs her fingers through her curls and tries to smile.
With sad eyes.
Heavy hands lift my shoulders, telling me it’s time to go. And I look back at my castle seeing it’s every ebb and flow,
as the waves take it back to a much better place.
A place I know, I will visit as well, once the heavy hands have cast their spell.
