How quickly the tides turn. It rises, and I know it has to come down, but when it does, I’m always strangely surprised. Call me gullible to believe the so-recent promises of the sea. It’s water. It’s fluid. It’s forever changing. Even if the sea hadn’t told me itself of its consistent inconsistence, I should have seen it, known it, felt it.

It just stings, is all. The contrast always rips me, calls me a fool.