Quail

A wave spends a long time sailing the open seas. Sometimes in search of other waves, sometimes in search of stillness and peace. Day and night, the wave moves around the world, riding the highs and the lows, sure that someday it will know where it belongs.

Once I knew a wave that found its shore. She was so happy, and she fought the tides and the winds to stay there, with her shore, its white silky sands, its protective half-moon shape. I used to visit her there, and just watch with a smile on my face as she lapped at the shore time and time again.

Then others came. They were jealous of me, and of the wave, of the tranquil joy we had found. They brought their junk, they set up camp, they left their trash. They poisoned the shore, turning white sands dark, changing the shape of its curve with their interference. And the wave was no longer happy.

With great sadness, she decided she could not return here. She would find another place where she could belong, someplace that wouldn't be found and disrupted and ruined. Someplace more stable, more lasting.

So we said our goodbyes, this wave and I. I'm sad to see her go, but I would have been more sad to see her stay. We all deserve someplace to feel happy and safe.

That's why I'm leaving this shore too. Maybe one day it will be beautiful again. But maybe it won't. I can't take that chance.