(Originally Written October 3, 2009 in the Journal)
I sit and admire the beauty of youth. A soft breeze blows from behind me while the waves gently caress the sand with a lover's touch. There are four girls, not yet women, dancing among the waves. Green and white fishing boats litter the horizon.
Excuse me a moment - cuba libre.
Behind me is the ancient of France, here for the last time I suppose. The stench of smoke and age and sea and bloated self pride permeates the air. But in front, four girls blossoming into women dance amongst the waves. So I sit here and admire the beauty of youth.
How is it at twenty-five I feel closer to these ancients behind? Am I not in my youth as well? I have an aging soul made older still by two years of utter torment. But I like the boats, something refreshing seems to be on the horizon. Will I ever reach that horizon, I don't know. But for now, I enjoy looking at it.
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