..The moon hung with docile arrogance over the mildly churnning surf. It portrayed itself with dignity over the blushing shoreline, periodically washed and rebirthed with every moment of weightless foam. I walked alone and I watched it, distracted by some internal musing which I cannot recall, and couldn't even if you'd asked me the second it came about.
   My left hand held a book, the smooth paper binding yellowing with sweat and sea. The air was heavy with the same salt that shamelessly eroded the shoreline and yellowed my book. I walked alone and I felt it, distracted by some imperfection within myself.
   It was a beautiful night, and embraced with it, I felt just the same. Removed from its element, my confidence slipped softly, dying with the sounds of the ocean in the silence of the aging blue Thunderbird that has seen far too much.

The moon watched me, grinning like a cheshire cat, the marionette of the more beloved puppet show on Earth.