The Sea by Anna Andriychuk

Despite how long ago it was,

Tom could never truly forget how the sea used to make him feel. Nor does he really want to.

Cold and seemingly everlasting, a testament to the futility of human life. No matter how many civilizations emerge, how many empires gloriously rise and devastatingly fall - it stays the same. As though laughing in the face of humanity's short-lived existence, their desperate attempt to make a worthwhile change that would never stick. Because they are inconsistent. Fickle. Pathetic.

It used to welcome him without a speck of warmth, greet him silently with an implicit offer of escape. Eternal, cowardly escape. The sand too urged him on, the grains painfully ground on the soles of his feet, the feeling piercing and spurring. As though whispering to him to make haste. Decide. Rid himself from their premise once and for all. Plunge himself into the depths to disappear forever.

Now, though? Now it is inviting. It no longer watches callously as he steps into its boundless domain. No, it offers him a hand. Gives him a choice. Lets him float on its thin, precarious surface. Allows him to feel the deep within. And then lets him go. Rids him of his worries, gives him a moment of respite.

The sand no longer pierces the tiniest crevices of his skin. No, it soothes him gently, agreeing with the waves that caress the tips of his toes.

Now it is beautiful. Now, warmth spreads itself through his body at the mere sight of the stars and sun reflected on its surface. The mellow breeze caresses his skin gently, reminding him of a better tomorrow. Of the fact that he too is allowed to have it.