Sand

The beach sand is hot underfoot. I spread my toes and let it sift between them, warming the gaps.

It’s nice.

I haven’t really thought about it much for the last few months. Bigger things, I guess. But I’m glad to feel it now, glad to notice. I wriggle my toes again.

A smile spreads my cracked lips.

I wave again to the little boat coming my way. No real reason to, they know I’m here. It’s just nice to wave. To wave at someone.

They wave back.

It’s nice.

I sit down in the warm sand, and try to momorize how nice it feels. It’ll be good to have a nice memory when I’m gone.

I pick up a handful of sand and let it play through my fingers.

It’s nice.

It’s nice, but I’ve had enough sand. Enough for a lifetime.

And when my rescuers arrive, I’m more than done with the nice warm sand.