In youth, there was hope.
When the footprints in the sand did not clear so easily with the tide.
If you built a sand-castle and promised forever,
The wind would kiss your cheeks and vow the same, taking your
Optimism to the
Sanguine, pink sky.

Thirty years later,
When people and promises are severed,
The wind returns.
What does it carry?
Sorrow, pity or joy—
At the hints of love realized in precious fleeting moments…
Like chocolate—so sweet,
That melts, too quickly, on your tongue.