[CONTENTID1]Some people say that if you hold a conch shell to the ear, you can hear the sound of the ocean reveraberating in the confines of the pearlescent walls. This is false. I should know- I have been here long enough to recognize every whisper and sigh that the waters have to offer. It sounds nothing like the myths say.

No, if anybody ever asked me (and nobody does), I would say that a better approximation would be to muffle your ears with your hands in the middle of an argument you cannot stop, close your eyes and pretend that you are nowhere and nobody. Just a speck of dust. Almost nothing at all.

Of course, these are solely my own musings.

There is no one to share them with.

~

This time, I spy him before he can sneak up on me. There is fog drifting in today, but that silhouette is unmistakable.

"Every time I see you, you're always watching the ocean. Doesn't it get boring?" he shouts as soon as he is within hearing distance.

"This is only the third meeting," I remark, but as usual, he lets my comment roll away like dew drops on a crisp, perinneal leaf. He jogs over, clothes billowing as the wind sweeps layers and layers of the dunes away.

"Why do you stay here?"

It is a hard question to answer, but I gingerly reply. "Something about the ocean pulls you in, captivating you with its every breath. You have no choice but to be drawn in, riveted by the splendor of the infinite depths and all the dancing ripples of light with each rising dawn."

Arms loosely wrapped his legs, he rests his chin on his knee and peers toward the horizon. After a moment, he says, "Sounds dangerous. You know what? By my definitions, that would be called a riptide."

I glare and he throws his head back and l