He used to stand in front of the sea,
mind the waves washing away ill memories

Cold and forgotten were his feet,
as rigid and gelid his voice was stuck
Though his mind was always up for questions,
every time he used to stand in front of the sea

He threw questions in the vast waters,
as stones, which slowly approach the bottom

  Why was he seeking constant approval?
  Why wasn’t he feeling enough?
  Why was he always so hard on himself?

Eventually, he turned back and felt relieved
the warm wind embraced his sensitive body
while familiar touches were running over his back

This time he didn’t question the sea
he understood
and he was ready for something different,
new and worth to remember

Those washed memories were carrying bitter rivalry
with nobody else but his own damn self