WE stood for about 15 minutes staring out at the sea. It was February, and the air had a clean feeling. Though only about 60 degrees, the wind kept a nice chill to the air. Some surfers braved the much colder water in wetsuits, trying to catch something of the winter waves.

I used an old camera of my dad's to try to make the afternoon more memorable; it wasn't needed. My amateur photography was shakey, but it was fun getting you to pose with the ocean behind you. It was fun playing with the aperture, and the focus. It was fun walking around holding hands.

We ordered a can of beer from a concession stand and paid the two dollars to walk along the boardwalk. The obvious feeling of infinity, staring out among the sea. I had a small notebook and scrabbled out this nonesence, more proof of my lack of growth as a writer of any kind:

Can this be exactly what I had planned all along
Had I somehow known exactly what I was doing,
Amidst all that turmoil in my mind? Fake catastrophes, moments holding on to dear life, the bottom of the floor, staring at the cheap tan carpet.
I moved alone after all. I took some risk, for myself anyway...
and it looks like its panning out.
This final embark,
from nothing to the end of the earth