bury my toes in the cold trickling sand
the sweeping sensation of frothy waves
emerald green and soothing movement
soft popping froth drinking around my ankles
close my eyes, touch the wind
taste the salt and the shiver
what if I became a statue
as the water refuse to recede
and my veins are carved of rock,
if I became a statue
and the earth devoured me to the knees
what expression would play my face,
what would my thoughts be
on the day I decided to refuse to be

what would they name me?
what would the remember of me?
*forgotten