Looks just like the Sun...

It'll wash up on the shore miles down from where I fall. The island is so small, yet everything here is out of reach. The only thing I can see is what I'm sick of watching: my own reflection looking back at me.

I either tried too hard, or didn't try nearly hard enough. But, it doesn't really matter at this point... All I've become is solemn acceptance and acquiescence.

I hate waking up to see that bright, glaring sun. I hate it that I feel like crying, when I have no water to spare. All I can do is wait to stop waiting.

Dreams are meaningless, because they're just dreams. If I took them as currency, I'd be sitting on a gigantic, broken heart; a monstrous, withered flower.

Waves build, and they crash on me. A rolling hyperbole that crushes so deeply and thoroughly... My bones are tired, half-broken and unkempt. I just don't feel like walking anymore. I'd rather lie here and let myself be dragged into the sea.