Sand by the Sea

You are reminded of the tides that still cherish their periodic encounters with the shore.

As you thread softly on the shores of memories, wave after wave of sentiments loaded with snapshots of particular moments crash against your memory banks. You are reminded of the velvet sheet of darkness where diamonds smile back at you as you entrust your thoughts and theories to its warm embrace. You are reminded of the sunshine that thaws the cold and melts the frost. You are reminded of the tempest that rages within a glass sphere, unable to break out of its chains - or perhaps, your chains. You are reminded of the breeze that cuts relentlessly, even as you stood still and unmoving, unable to act or react. You are reminded of the trees that stand still as they honour their promise to the grass that they shall be protected. You are reminded of the tune that lies to escape the flute, and how you never hear of it ever again. You are reminded of the tides that still cherish their periodic encounters with the shore. I am reminded of the people I meet, and the people I have met.

Yet, they leave as quickly too, often without even letting you know, like the girl whose smile used to teach you that there were eight colours in the rainbow.

People enter our lives every day. They enter quickly and suddenly, like the boy who was drooling on his mother's arm, though her adoring smile told us that she did not mind it at all; or the pregnant lady who gave up her seat to a paraplegic while others beside feigned blindness to the situation. Yet, they leave as quickly too, often without even letting you know, like the girl whose smile used to teach you that there were eight colours in the rainbow; or the friend who used to be able to decipher the coded whisperings of your heart.

And then there are the rare few who engrave their story of the time we have spent together on the edge of the sea.

People enter our lives, and leave them. Some of them leave behind nothing but footsteps in the sand, imprints that would be washed away by the ensuing high tide, leaving behind an absence that would not be felt in time to come. Others build unique sandcastles on the beach and introduce us to haunting melodies as wind blows past its sculpted chambers - such that when the castle is reduced to a relic of a beautiful past, we are gifted with a resounding sense of loss. And then there are the rare few who engrave their story of the time we have spent together on the edge of the sea - thus, even when the waters have dissolved its tangible presence, the tale will still resound as we fill up the empty spaces with those intangible, shared emotions.

At this point, you can't help but wonder: whose memories will I still be holding on to next year?

You open up your palms, allowing those tiny particles to escape into the air, and you watch as they slowly flicker out of existence. This is what memories are made of; this is what memories are like. There are too many of them for you to cherish, too many of them for you to hold on to. Sometimes, you got to let some of them go so you can make space for new ones. At this point, you can't help but wonder: whose memories will I still be holding on to next year? Will the storms and gusts wipe away that which you once considered precious? Or will you be able to hold on tight enough, to stop them from leaving your hands, to stop them from leaving your heart? Will I be able...?

Only time will tell.

So you watch the sunset with a hopeful heart, and pray that when the sun rises again tomorrow, the sands of memory will stay where they are. After all, miracles do happen...

...right?