“Is this all there is?”
A rhetoric often spouted about a simple life.
A building dedicated to housing literature that passes through the hands of many — all reading the same stories, as the one book gets to travel through so many different lives. A day at the beach. On the verandah with a cup of tea. Waiting in the car on pick up duty.
A cup of coffee from the small business that trades on someone’s dreams.
Buying trinkets made by the hand of a creative, sitting up at night by the light of a lamp in hopes someone will adorn themselves in their art.
The smell of the fresh, salty air and the sound of the crashing waves moving through me like medicine. Meditation.
The retirees spending their days by the beach. The couples having some time away. Young families soaking up the early days. People mirroring me, in every version that will come.
Is this all there is?
I hope so.
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