Have you heard the story of the shore and the sea? It was supposed to be as great as the story between Orpheus and Eurydice. No? Well my dear, it is one you should know.
 

The sea has always kept its distance. Even in its longing, it withdraws. It arrives in silvery breaths, barely caressing the waiting shore. It stays for a moment, only a moment, as if the closeness burns. The burn is too much, so the sea slips away again, pulling its languid heart back into the anonymity of itself.

 

What happens to the shore? Well, it waits.

 

The shore, aching for what lies on the distant horizon, leans forward grain by grain, scrambling toward where the silence has been collected by the sea. Through seashells and fragile, frothy oceanic foam, the shore whispers, “Stay,” hoping the tide will not erase the plea.
 

The sea hears the pleas it has already heard before and still continues to ignore.
 

Little does the shore know the sea loves in its trembling currents, not the statued anchors. As it circles the world, it escapes the grip and the gravity of need.
 

Ironic, isn’t it? How it recedes just out of reach. How, on the hour, it drifts back. Never long enough to remain but also never brave enough to completely vanish. To release its grip on the shore quivering with patience. Waiting for the return to not be a chore.
 

The shore continues to spread itself wider with each waking day to meet the boundless, tender embrace of the waves. Its land is left with the imprint of each visit, like a letter reread again and again until the paper thins and is no more.
 

Orpheus is afraid to lose Eurydice, so the story plays on repeat. The same does not hold true for the sea and the shore.
 

The sea is afraid to be trapped in a bottle of closeness while the shore is afraid of the scorching desert that comes with the distance. Between them holds the neverending tide echoing their untethered compromise of coming and leaving.

 

That my darling is the story of the sea and the shore.