Sea and Sun

The sea before me has buried countless dead bodies, and concealed untold more moving bodies. A violent wave hits the shore and I feel the sand slowly piercing my body. Every pore is clogged with fragments of what once was.
The Sun is looking at me eye to eye, putting yellow-orange carpet on the surface of the sea.

The horizon is inviting me to walk until the end is nothing but an eclipse of essences that shouldn’t be together.

As a child I remembered looking up at the sun and it was blinding. I remembered it as God who provided nourishment and extinguished any dark corner of the Earth.

Then I remembered the Sun looking down at the moving coffin elevator of the dead body of hers. As if mocking mortality. As if the Sun waited for this exact moment just to give its faint-flare chuckle.