Left, with bruised heart. Beating a steady weary beat, behind the cover of fear. Afraid to love. Afraid to be loved. Everything just seems...like betrayal. Everything ends, just as the heart begins to open; cautiously, quietly, and then it cringes, because it's gone.
Endings. They're like the ocean. They are constantly coming, and wreaking sandcastles; beautiful sandcastles, that took part of the builder away when they made it. It was last glimpsed in evening sky....sunset lighting its walls. Nothing told the dreamer's heart it would be gone in the morning. And when, with expectation, they run to the shore, they find it gone, with only sticks and stones: the skeleton of what it used to be, lying ruined.
And now, there are not so many castles. The dreamer is tired and weary of hoping. Because hope returned emptiness, with only scars by which to remember the castles, built by those careful hands that only wanted to love.
And so this fear. This fear of the ruins. The emptiness. The sound of the waves lapping in and out, and the beat of your heart that is bruised and does not want to hope, because it is afraid. In the silence. All is silent. All but the pain, coming as a familiar stranger.
How many more castles could you build? Why did they all come down, and so suddenly? Why cannot love be returned with love...a love that lasts? With understanding...
Slowly, your heart calms, and the wind whispers through your ears. Amen. Amen.
A deep breath, pulled in and let out: your heart breathes again. With amen.

The wet sand beneath your toes feels smooth, and your heart lifts its weary face to the sky.

Maybe....

The wind stirs your hair.
Maybe... you could be loved, really. Maybe you could love too, again.

Slowly, your fingers touch the sand, sinking in to the cool dampness, and picking back up a handful. It rests in your palm, and drips down your arms. And your weary soul creates.
Slowly, drop by drop, you start to build. The sun warms you through, as it warms your castle, drying it as it drops, and keeping it formed. It is beautiful.
And then, it is finished. For today. Your aching muscles stretch for a break, and you scan the work. You sigh, with gratitude. It is beautiful.

Running feet on morning sand. The sun creeps up the line the ocean marks. The cool night wind, still hanging in the air. It whispers 'amen'. And you fear. With throbbing heart, you drop to your knees. And your heart bows down in a sorrow so deep, it could make the sky weep. In terror, you want to flee. Because before the fading light of your eyes, there is nothing. Nothing left. Nothing but the empty shore, barren and mourning, and the waves, going in, coming out, taking away. Taking away. Your castle, with part of the last part of you you had, has slipped away. Crushed to the ground, with pieces of you.

After the silence, your heart can hear its echo beating. It struggles to life. It struggles from its face to its knees, crushed beneath the weight. But it reaches way down deep, somewhere, to breathe, amen.