Beaches tell the secrets of souls scattered on waters troubled, leaving the man laying beside the lake hopeless. It’s the seashells that can’t keep the secrets, repeating every word uttered in their ears like echoes. The words uttered in silence take the shape of mollusks in the eyes of gluttonous seagulls consumed, having extracted every ounce of nourishment leaving piles of excrement to clean up. Imprints of rendezvous no longer visible, washed away with the tide. This is the beach on a gloomy day which started as melancholy until the sun’s rays shined through, clarifying that melancholy was really emotional bankruptcy.


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