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The Beach

Some of my best days happened at the beach.

I remember standing at the edge of the water.

The waves crashed against my legs.

It was as if they were trying to tip me over.

I would float on my back.

The tide rocked me to sleep.

Soaking in the sunlight was one of the best feelings in the world.

I have two favorite beaches.

There was a beach on Anna Maria Island in Florida and Hermosa Beach in California.

Both are on opposite sides of the country, and I loved them for different reasons.

Anna Maria Island is a mile stretch of land.

The beach is often empty, with a few restaurants off the road.

We stayed at a small motel, and the manager came to know us by name.

It was a secret jewel amongst worn, once brightly-colored, buildings.

We were the only ones on the beach that day.

The waves were so large, they could swallow my sister hole.

Sandpipers were running back and forth.

My dad let us bury him under the sand.

We laughed so hard, and even my mom helped us.

That was the first time the sand didn't bother me.

It was one of the best days ever.

My mother and sister had to leave, but my dad and I stayed the night.

We went to a restaurant off the beach.

There was a boat sailing in the distance.

We watched and observed as it disappeared.

I was sad to leave the next morning.

Though the island was small and desolate.

The waves begged me to stay.

I would have obliged, yet, home was calling me.

Hermosa was busy, but there was plenty of room between groups.

It was never overcrowded, or loud.

You could hear the crashing of the waves from a distance.

The people were kind, but kept to themselves.

There were local places to eat and shop.

There were surfers, people who walked the paths and people who relaxed.

I remember walking along the beach with my parents behind me.

The waves tickled my toes and the sand tried to pull me under.

I found a living sand dollar and cradled it until I put it back into the water.

It’s best to leave still-living things alone.

I sat on the beach and listened to the waves.

They would crash so loud, sometimes it sounded like thunder.

The waves were perfect for floating.

It was tempting to let them carry me out to sea.

My family was staying, but I had to leave our trip early.

I sat on the beach until I had to catch the plane.

The waves, once again, had begged me to stay.

I would have obliged, but home was calling me.

But, what if I had stayed?

What if I let the waves show me their home?

I would lay back, and they would carry me.

There is only one thing stopping me.

I always find a reason to stay.

The more life inches towards normal, I lose interest.

I would rather live on an island, alone, than have a normal life.

Life is so obsolete.