“I never wanted to be right. I wanted to be the me that was wrong, and so I would change, and in my difference I would be better. In betterness I would probably have been someone else entirely, and I wouldn’t have to be me anymore.” 

Her eyes rested on the slowly rising sun over the waters of the east sea. She balled sand in her fists and held it to her chest, pressing it with white knuckles into her ribs. Stifling her breath, exhaling quickly with wet eyes, she threw the sand at the sun and tumbled over onto her side. She held her head in her hands and sobbed, curling her knees to her chin while she cried into the uncaring earth. 

I could not comfort her. 

“We should get a change of clothes.”

Her sobbing did not stop, but she looked up at me, sitting beside her still, and without a word sat up. She looked out at the sun again, and while the wind carried waves across the low tide, she smacked me across the face. 

“I’m just so tired, don’t you get it?!” 

I did not reply. 

“Just leave me alone…”

She pulled off the wet socks and stood in the sand barefoot. As if to take in the sun itself, she inhaled deeply of the wind that met her. Her eyes reflected that light, and she began forward. Marching on towards the water, towards her future. Towards her own betterness. Yet, when I saw her feet enveloped by the rising tide, and saw her shirt begin to float on the waves, my own feet went forward. Without resistance, I grabbed her arm while we were both beaten by the irreverent abyss into which she desired to tread. Her wet eyes came to me again, and in them was hate. 

“I don’t want you to die.” 

The words came through my own tears. Though where they came from was unobservable. Emotions clouded by desires, base and inherent traits. Nested sentimentality and personal philosophy. I did not want her to die, and that was all that dwelt within my mind in the moment. I was her villain then. 

“I just hate this…” 

As the wind carried her words to places beyond us, she came to me. We held each other as the first beach goers walked down the grassy hillside to meet the new day with open arms. In their hands were plastic shovels, surfboards, towels, and umbrellas. For they were the race to which we belonged. Though we could never understand it.