The Shore Waits for Her

The sea at night has always carried herself
like a woman who knows exactly how beautiful she is
and feels no obligation to convince anyone.

She arrives in silk-black waves,
unbothered, expensive-looking,
wearing moonlight across her shoulders
as if God Himself tailored the gown.

And the poets?
Oh, we gather near her like moths with notebooks,
pretending we came for “reflection,”
When really we came to be humbled.

There is something deeply offensive
about how effortlessly the ocean embodies abundance.
No insecurity. No audition.
Just endlessness.

She does not chase the shore.
The shore waits for her.

That alone deserves a standing ovation.

At poetic nights by the sea,
everyone suddenly becomes honest.
The loud grows softer.
The guard begins staring too long into the tide.
Someone always lights a cigarette.
They claim they were “trying to quit.”
Someone recites Neruda badly.
Someone falls in love with a stranger’s silence.

And the ocean?
She laughs in waves against the dock,
amused by our tiny dramatics.

I love her for that.

I love the way she refuses to be urgent.
The way she teaches elegance through repetition:
arrive, retreat, return.
No performance. No desperation.
Just rhythm.

The sea understands something.
Most people spend their whole lives trying to learn:
Power is not loudness.
It is depth.

Even the moon behaves differently around her.
Softer. More attentive.
As if the sky itself knows
When it has encountered a woman it cannot outshine.

And me—
I sit there wrapped in salt air and confidence,
toes buried in cool sand,
laughing quietly at all the things
I once thought I had to force.

Love. Attention. Arrival. Recognition.

The ocean cured me of chasing.

Now I prefer things that flow naturally:
good conversation, expensive candles,
well-written poetry,
and people are secure enough
not to confuse softness with weakness.

What a miracle it is
to become calm without becoming cold.

The sea knows this, too.

She can drown cities
and still kiss the shoreline tenderly.

That is the kind of woman
I aspire to be.

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