The Beach by Yelyzaveta Horbachova

The sun spills golden light over the rolling waves,

turning the sea into a sparkling expanse of diamonds. The salty breeze rushes through my hair, playful and wild, carrying the laughter of distant gulls. The sand is warm beneath my feet, soft and inviting, moulding perfectly to every step like a gentle embrace. The rhythmic crash of the waves is a song of endless possibility, each crest a whisper of adventure. It's only the silence that is filled with the high tide, which grasps me heavenly. The world feels vast, open, and kind, as if the horizon itself is smiling back at me. I'm content with the harmony of the moment.

The ocean stretches out endlessly, its surface dark and restless, mirroring the heaviness in my chest. The wind bites against my skin, cold and indifferent, grasping my clothes like a silent plea to turn back. I'm wriggling around in attempts to find a peaceful moment, though each wave collapses against the shore with a hollow crash, only to be pulled away again, frightening just like everything else. The gritty sand clings to my damp hands, filling the spaces between my fingers like the memories I can’t let go of. The sky above is vast and empty, and the horizon feels impossibly far, a reminder of just how small I am in the face of loss.