I’ve always felt this way. As though my life makes about as much sense as a ship in sand. I’m meant for ambition, for parties, for dramatic occasions, a few sloppy, drunken mistakes, and some adventurous nights. Instead I’m desolate. Waiting for others to explore my depths, to touch and repair parts of me that have long since decayed.

Despite my despair, you wait in the distance. A camera in hand, seeming as though you couldn’t care less about the awkward, undeserving, empty life I’ve lead. “LET ME LOVE YOU!!” You scream, marveling at my simplistic beauty. Love and passion has really made you blind.

Little do you know, that if I were closer to an ocean, I’d find a way to relieve myself of such a sandy wasteland. I’d sail off and finally partake in those adventures I’m supposed to have. I’d leave you to endure all the heat, bugs, and isolation that this place has to offer. Because, I know that I was built in the sand, but I belong in the sea.