The tender youthful ocean, mellow and wan, passing through the vicissitudes of passion and toiling with an unmirthful poignant growl, loftily rising in fainéant formation of a sharp, caustic tide – a transformation unwonted, grave in contrast to the tinsel shades of the incipient skyline as they met in mergence at the horizon. The fine granules of sand on the now deserted beach still felt warm from the heat of a dusky evening sun.
The woman, she sat there, a picture of quaint perfection but with much conflict at heart. Her life, like the convergence at shore of paradoxical wavelengths. Much had transpired, moments to live unforgettable, that she hoped with time would be withered away in tranquility by the gentle hush of a wave.
Yearning for that fortuitous feather like touch, hope tingling amidst angst, unsure of what was once vied, each tear embedded beneath the water, in the sand – evanishing transience.
The last rays of the sun streaking the realm of the ken over the jagged rocks beyond the water, far beyond, through the burgeoning twilight – in brilliance fugacious.
What tomorrow might bring is but always a surprise. The impressions left behind washed – a path anew to walk on, ahead, away. The morrow is, afterall, another day – a day to kiss off that mask she wore, to face them all with clairsentient view, to embrace the life she never lived to learn and love. The waves’ gentle caress against her delicate, effete feet wouldn’t stop her as she withdrew, stood up and trudged forward – the closure of a long chapter in endeavour of a new beginning, one to never bring back within the bounds of the future, the past, but leave crumbling and deliquesced on the coast of yesterday.
(By ancient Roman mythology, Aurora was the goddess of dawn.)
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