Sand always finds a way to cling itself to the bodies of those who try to ignore him with towels or wash him away with showers. I told myself I never really cared for the beach anyway, but that sand stayed with me, making me long for the ocean water to kiss the shore one last time. Longing for summer nights, longing for her. We made sand castles and she buried me in every grain, laughing, taking pictures, loving. One night I swore I saw her, I reached out

but a gust of wind came, almost as bad as the storm that had washed us away before. And then she was gone again, clinging to my body, lingering my home, despite the towels and countless showers. I never really cared for the beach anyway

Ah! such a happy mess is this,
the credit goes to us all
but no one, contributed to it ,
so generously couldn't
recollect the precise recipe,
or what ingredients went in to it,
have no hope of a mess exactly like this,
or taking steps to avoid it altogether!
A happy mess is an aberration of course!
Behind every mess are muddled minds
that look for it consciously or not,
an enviable coincidence of
thoughts craving to create disorder.
Out of compulsion of some sort
they seek gratification in it,
but look at their humbleness
all they say is this,"**** happens"