On sands he sat, contemplating quiet things. Things left unsaid and things rarely shown. Reflecting on the feelings of men, or the friendliness of misery. After all, if no one likes being miserable, why are so many people unhappy with their lot in life. He chucked, realizing that he was only 12, and probably shouldn’t be thinking of such things.

But how important they were, and how common they were, begged such questions. Thinking of this, his father’s voice rang in his ears.
“Such thoughts are an older man’s game. Enjoy these years while you have them.” But again his mind raced, he was so often called an old soul, one of the few left. All of these things, rarely spoken of, always needed, and slowly fading.


Perhaps it is simply due to the way we grow older, he thought. The way so many of us rarely get a chance to ponder such questions, we are given our roles to play, and little else. He sat there on the shore of the beach, thinking and writing for a while longer, until a starfish washed up on shore next to him and broke the spell.