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When I Was Young At The Beach

When I was young at the beach, I would stare at the beautiful glistening water as my mom gently rubbed on my sunscreen. Staring at the birds and people going in and out of the glass like water. I felt so calm and relaxed, like never before. When I was at the beach, I couldn’t cry, the tears didn’t come. Only when I had to say goodbye.





When I was young at the beach, I would giggle swinging in my daddy’s arms. As he threw me in the air, the cool, misty breeze against my smooth-from-baby-oil-skin. The nourishing enjoyment I had. As I would come back into his arms, he compassionately dipped my toes in the icy cold, salty water.



When I was young at the beach, I would sit on the wet rock jetties looking at the unique shells I had collected that day, simply making shapes and letters out of them. I spent hours sitting at the beach. When I had my goldfish, I wold lick the salt off, as if I hadn’t had enough after all the ocean water I had swallowed. Then, carefully dipping the cracker in the grainy sand, the texture was different than all others, the gritty feeling on my teeth.




When I was young at the beach, I would take long walks, passing the crowds until I reached a quiet place to search for crabs and fish. When it got late, my parents drove me home and we would admire the sketches my mom had drawn of the beaches terrain. Then I would just think about my next day at the beach and where I would explore next.




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