facing the waves

The tide was considerably high the last time I looked out into sea - the sound of the waters crashing the shore, the recurring waves, blue turning into white foaming into the sand being receding again - it was more than a year ago at a beach in Melbourne. I had planted myself at the shoreline, just behind where the wet sand was last marked, a clear line demarcating the parts of the beach that remained untouched by the elements.

I remember being in some deep thought then, or mindlessly raptured in a sense of calm. But I assume that's what being alone outside with nothing but your thoughts do to you.

Nothing particularly memorable happened on that beach, but today I felt like I was back at the same spot again, except the waves didn't just serve as a cooing soundtrack, the endless waves just something to hypnotise you till time eludes you.

The dust had finally begun to settle and it seems like there's some normalcy restored, the pace of life resolved with some form of consistency, and there's much more solace and peace found in that than monotony as people made it out to be. It'll still be a lie to say I'm rested at ease, there's still a heavy load of trepidation, like everything now is just an intermission, that 2 negligible seconds when one curdle of wave cease to be, thinking that it'll be the last. Right now they flood like a mini deluge around my toes, the cooling waters providing an unadulterated sense of liberation. But maybe I should be on my toes to fight the currents -despite the mere thought of fighting feels like a futile effort- because while the recent tidal of trials and tribulation have tailed off behind me, the next one's not too far away.