i spent all summer on that beach.
every day at ten o'clock
i would set out my towel
and my notebooks
and my umbrella
so i could cower in the shade
like a morose beetle
scuttling out of the sun.
motionless i would sit
contemplating
and wondering
and swallowing the lump
in my throat
as i tried to fight my despair
and look at the couples and
the children and
the families
and think, "i can have that joy,"
when really i knew i couldn't.

the tendrils of water
would reach up at me like fingers,
grasping at my dampened toes,
caressing the corner of my towel
and i would stare
and watch the tiny grains of sand
sway and recede in the tide.
it was the same way
my eyes would reach up
at the pale clouds in the sky,
angelic against the chunky blue,
the same way they would
grasp at the dipping seagulls,
caress the distant sailboats.

i would think,
"there must be more to life
than gazing at it
from the outside
and wondering
if the world extends beyond
the beach."