I miss smiling on a snow-white terraced mountain thinking nothing else matters. I miss watching the waving curves of a gazelle. I miss the crowing rooster in early morning. I miss looking at the pebbles underwater. I miss walking from sands to the turquoise ripples, feeling the chill brought by the currents and counting pebbles with my toes. I miss staring at my feet when they share same shadows of the ripples with the pebbles. I miss chasing a bunch of fish. I miss finding a coin under the pebbles. I miss feeling as part of the nature. I miss stopping in front of a reef and climbing onto the top of it and thinking I own an island.

 

 

Counting pebbles

I wonder how it will be when I’m gone. Are the sands still silky without my footprints on? Are there still floating shadows of ripples on the pebbles without me in the way? Are the pebbles still all blue and grey and white and beige and reddish with zebra stripes or rainbow waves or marble curves; round and oval and long and triangular and big and small like clouds and hearts; cracked and shinny and rough and distorted and polished? Do they think about me bubbling at the horizon? Do they miss me swimming back and forth the two big reef rocks? Do they still keep the flip-flop I slipped that summer? Nothing stays forever, can I feel the pebbles when I dive in the other side of the sea, the other side of the world? Would it be the same?

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