Each grain of sand,
the clouds, the sea, the wind, the trees,
the sun, the island in the distance;
all that makes the beach what it is.
You, sitting under the shade,
rum coke in hand, staring out into the horizon,
lost in thought;
you being here,
me watching you,
makes the moment what it is.
Without us present,
the beach is still a beach;
The clouds floats above the waters,
the fish will swim beneath the waves,
the sun will shine as brightly as it always has.
But what would be the point?