I am not talking to you. I am sorry. There are people around me. I can't talk to you the way i want to.
Yes, That was just an excuse. I am tiny. I do not know how to talk to you, though i know i want to. I know you yearn to too. You are talking to me. It is a language barrier. I can't speak like you do.
I am trying to philosophize - love knowledge. The child that i am creeps back in, a very adult child. It begins laughing, but only at people around.I convince myself that i am conversing with you as i run to you and against, jump over waves, get drenched like never before and listen to you voice. Your waves still roar at me. I cannot understand what you are telling. I see just the bubble-breaking-beauty of your foam and those waves that leap like frogs. My friend tells me that each wave comes fresh and consumes an older sandy one. I see dragons of them. Then we speak poetry.
Oh! I am already picking shells! I think i am trying to talk to you now, asking for more shells.
I know you are annoyed. I can see you eat up my conversations with the sand.
I do not know how to talk to you. I feel like a pickle now. Salty and shrunken in front of you. Using what language do pickles talk to the sea?
I am hungry and the sun is clouded over. I cannot speak to you now. I have an exam tomorrow. Worry is creeping into me like worms.
I shall meet you again next week, wearing a rain coat. Let us seek a language.