I sit on the water’s edge and stare out at the waves. There is a small family to my left. A little boy is slapping his hands against the water and his large mother sits uncomfortably in the sand next to a man who could either be the boy’s older sibling or his father. They are talking about money on the beach where no one should talk at all. I biked for an hour and a half to reach this tiny public spit of land nested between large beach houses perched on sand dunes; their property marked off by ropes and DO NOT ENTER signs that I’m not so sure mean anything once you get to the water’s edge. Can you own the water?

I want them to disappear. Talk about money and slap the water at the State Park with everyone else. I want to be alone and feel the hot sand melt my feet and the cold water shock them back to life without another living soul anywhere near me. I want to lose my thoughts in the sun and feel the waves lap at my sores of self deprecation.  I want to be in a world where it doesn’t matter if you’re important because you’re the only one there.

The waves are lost in the slapping of the child’s palms and the indiscreet squabble his parents share with the world. I curl my toes and embrace the sand and smile at the water before turning to go. Walking back into the reality of a world full of people, where I am just another, left to dream of the beach where I am validated.

Luciana, 24