Lost Sand Part II (Tiny Sandcastles)

Eventually you learn that they’re not coming back… those tiny grains of sand. You give up on them, and slowly move on. It still hurts, but memories fade over time, and the rose colored glasses tint life in such a way that you almost forget those bad memories ever even happened.

That is, until you have relapses. Then and only then do you remember that you had a life before, and remember just have much pain every single day caused.

Some of that stand is still there, in tiny sandcastles beneath my feet. But they are so far away and unreachable. Some can’t move, and some are simply afraid that if they do, they will crumble. They are all I have left, but they are not here.

I did for new sand every now and again. Some I only touch, some stick to my shirt but never to my hands. I even manage to hold some for a little while, but when I see them slipping I throw them down in an exasperated thrust, eager to make the painful end come sooner. “You can not be my sandcastle,” I yell silently in my sleep. “You don’t really care.”

I can not wait until I get the chance to lay down and be with my sandcastles again. They will protect me and care for me, and when it rains I will shield them from the rain so they won’t crumble. We need each other.

I can not wait until I can go home.

It’s really lonely up here.