The soft sand beneath you exudes a subtle heat through your feet, as you wiggle your toes wearing a small smile. The air out here smells so different, so fresh and slightly salty; nothing like the city, laced with smog and cigarettes. You let the wind whip around your face as you wander toward the ocean in all of its twinkling wonder. Being alone can be so rewarding in the right setting, and this is one of those moments.
The sound of laughter overpowers the slight crashing of waves, then gives in to another popular song, accompanied by a young man carelessly strumming a beat up guitar. You look around at your friends, all sipping champagne (or beer for the few “lads” present) and smiling while mouthing jovial lyrics. The sun is starting to set but nobody even bothers to glance at their watch, the evening is far too perfect for that.
As you flick over the page in the latest chick lit novel you acquired for Christmas, you notice movement out of the corner of your eye. A little boy, maybe 3 years old, is building what appears to be a sandcastle of sorts. His little brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries to create a castle similar to those he has seen in storybooks. Tiny hands grab clumps of sand and pat them together with the clumsy skill of an amateur sculptor. You smile over at him, remembering the innocence and delight of your own childhood, wishing it were still as simple as making the perfect sandcastle.