We’re all breaking. Like a sand castle that keeps crumbling. We want to be strong and steadfast. We don’t want people to see the difficulty we’re having at holding our castle together. When one more clod cracks off and thuds on the grains it’s made of, we scramble to pick it back up and weld it back on with wet, sore fingers. We know it won’t hold for long just like the tide won’t always stay low. But at least no one saw. We check, looking into the faces of those passing by. The brown-haired tan girl with the blue, postage-stamp small bikini didn’t notice. And the chiseled guy watching her definitely didn’t see. When all the kids run by we hold our breath hoping their bare feet won’t stampede it lose. Thankfully, they don’t. We let out a breath but still don’t breathe easily. We never do. It’s like we’re training for when the waves come in. And we slowly suffocate.
Then there’s those random mean people who like to take advantage of the vulnerable, and come up and knock off pieces of our castles. We crumble a little more. We start to believe more people are nasty like this so we build our castles even more fortified. Now, when people walk by they awe over our strength and handiwork. And we start to believe them pretending we aren’t made of sand. But we are. And we’re disintegrating even faster as we sink into the water sloshing in.
Suddenly we find ourselves wishing we could crush our own castles and just be, instead of surviving. But what will people think when they see our castle flat and destroyed? Obviously, we aren’t as strong as they thought. But we’re tired and weary. We’re exhausted from maintaining the standard height. We just want to rest on the heated sand, watching the salty sea come in, and feel the warm sunset in our grains. So we let go and just be what we are made of. People will look down at us ashamed that they once praised our glory. But it’s okay. It’s good to be broken again. And hopefully one day they’ll realize their made of sand too.