Beach

That night I woke up to find myself lying on an isolated beach somewhere. It must have been around four in the morning and the beach, the sea and the sky were all painted in various shades of blue and grey. I knew the time because it was not the first time that I was waking up like this. Since childhood there were these nights when I would wake up at four in the morning and roam about in my house.

There was something beautiful about the darkness and the silence of these nights that I always looked forward to during the day. The days are lost under layers of small talk and the schemes that keep it going. But at nights naked thoughts bubble up to the surface. Useless thoughts and stories, all meaningless. They thrive because they are never spoken out to be judged and because they don't have to follow the latest fashion.

But that night I found not a stray thought to think, not a metaphor to decode, not a song to sing, not even a soul to hate. And I couldn't sleep either. So I got up, got undressed and ran towards the splashing waves. For some time I could see myself running - a black figure getting smaller against a large dark blue sheet. And then I vanished.