You wake up in morning's hush. The light has not yet broken the horizon, but you know it is coming. You rise from your bed, feeling floorboards creak beneath your gentle weight. The wind off the sea blows delicately through your simply adorned home. Breathing deep, you stretch the night from your muscles.
The one-bedroom shack you've called home for 3 years is dusted with fine sand, the broad double-doors that face the ocean are ajar, letting the cool morning air in. You walk down into the sand, headed for the water's edge.
With the water lapping at your toes, you sit down in the cool, wet sand. You hug your knees to your chest, feel the salt spray bringing you to wakefulness. You hair is tousled by the wind, like a lover after a period of goodbye.
You miss her, as you always do. You smell her in the ocean air, feel her in the cold water at your feet. She is still with you, as long as those things are.
Dawn begins to break, and the view is spectacular, like it always is. A band of orange light creeps over the water, like floating fire, heedless of nature.
The light catches on something by your feet.
You pick it up; a small piece of sea glass.
You feel a kindred with the little blue stone. Like you, this natural beauty has been through the tumult of life. Like you, it has had it edges rounded by factors outside its control.