I would like you to see what I have seen. 

…a never ending twilight from dawn to dusk as if the stubborn sun is sulking beneath the menacing grey clouds but not budging from its hideout like a spoilt brat behind the couch or a terrorist in a hostage situation.

…the well-fed content packs of clouds prowling around and over the clean brown sea, lazing around unbothered by the teasing naked frolicking prey, never giving in to the temptation of striking a single firm blow at the shutter constantly aimed at them. 

…the constant rumbling of the waves that often rise above and beyond the tallest among them, a hungry stomach baying for food, pushing and pulling and stabbing and slapping and burning and tossing them about leaving them with bruised knees and yellow soles and red eyes and sand in their ears, throwing them around while they struggle to mimic who they were before they knew where they came from and fail miserably. 

…the jostling and holding hands and pushing and giggling, the screaming when a married finger traces another married chest and a married claw clings to another married back, a constant brazen merry-go-round of skin against skin, the seeing yet not noticing, the bulges and the mounds and the aging torsoes and the clinging straps, the hardening of nipples man and woman alike not due to arousal but due to relentless pounding or salt and sand and shell and conch, the buoyancy of mind and body, the cleansing and the letting go by holding on ever so tightly. 

…the quiet metamorphosis of sand to a giant mirror while the water teases them ever more inside, reflecting the beasts overhead while an active silence envelopes the world. 

…the clear water and the brown sand engaged in a hypnotic dance like him and her, the sand being tossed around and carried to heights it would never reach without the water, the water appearing brown only till you look closely, as closely as you could and then you would notice it is totally clear, totally unaffected, a mind and a body of its own, while the sand settles down to take a breather, unable to keep up. 

…the intense archaeological glare of a child staring at it oblivious to everything else but those teasing shells which made fleeting appearances between waves, a game of detection and memory played against an immortal foe, unaware that it is the precursor to all games known to mankind, reinventing the wheel for itself like every child should. 

…the hypnotic revolutions of those old white-winged silent gliders of the sky around it, as if obeying some ancient law that the sea has let them into, or on second thoughts, as if tied to a string with the child, maybe humoring it like their namesakes would. 

…i cannot see you the way I would like to or see things like your eyes see them all the time. Yet things have meaning when you see what I have seen. Things turn precious when you see them. 

I would like you to see what I have seen.