Castles of Sand

The sand drifted tenderly across the beach which stretched itself longer and wider than I was able to conceive. The deep blue carpet was lying out in the horizon, but many moments had now passed since I had abandoned the thought of ever getting down and dip my cold feet in the even colder fluid. I had crossed my legs, sitting down upright with my hands drilled down the sand and with my head slightly tilted back. There I was, letting the sun burn my closed eyelids and scatter my naked existence. 

By my side, a castle of sand had emerged; erected and steadfast against the wind it stood, well-knowing that this defiance would only be of any help in an estimated length of time before the dominating force of the wind would forever exterminate this brilliant castle; split it into hundreds of thousands of tiny little grains of sand, which, each and every one, would fall down and settle again randomly across the rough surface and create new unique moments in their endless journey across the beach.

I recognized this sandcastle, as one would recognize being in grief or being in love. Feelings as these are flighty, temporary experiences, which the wind likewise will remove; take away from you forever, before gently arriving with new feelings, as the winds do change. This sandcastle beside you is not unique; it is a copy, says the sun to my half–sunken eyelids. I do, however, still worship its creator; the artist who erected this masterpiece. It takes courage to even try, and though many do try, only few succeed. I wonder whether the artist was ever aware of what obstacles he had been dealing with? That Nature sooner or later will take everything created by humans back. Nature lives longer than Man, and even though it immediately would seem like the wind is stealing the sandcastle, it is merely taking back the tiny unique grains of sand, returning them to their rightful place. Order is ruined by chaos; chaos is restructured by order. All these feelings I’ve had taken away from me; have they too been brought to their rightful place – their rightful owner? Has order been restructured somewhere else? Does only a measured amount of feelings exist of which we must all share – and thus it is justified that none of us can keep them forever?

Once upon a time, I made the unique sandcastle; yes – I was the first. Everything I’ve seen ever since has been nothing more than copies of the true initial creation. Unfortunately, I was too young to appreciate what I had made, and this is a fact I will always look back upon with sunken lips. From time to time I visit the beach whereupon the towers were raised, bathing in hope of the castle having been brought back to me. I don’t ever recognize the beach, though; neither does the wind recognize me. I know that I will never be able to create something as beautiful again, as it was made by four hands tangled perfectly together.  I was not aware of what power my own two hands possessed, but perhaps that power was nothing more than one half needing its other half.