THIS HAS NO POINT

It shone down onto pasty backs drenched in white cream, with a sprinkling of sand dusted over as if it was a final layer. A systematic routine, up down, swim, spread and soar. Never will bread taste so crunchy and never will hydration seem so sweet. The quiet symphony of childrens laughter replace the music reaching your ears and for once dictate an almost tolerable sound. The azure sky was a painting, with the odd placed seagull illustrating the masterpiece further.

Even the wisest of eyes don't deserve this view.

As those same seagulls settle down for their lunch break worthless prose begins to fly between stranger's teeth, yet no one can help but feel intrigued. The distant hum from passing jet skis entice and thrill, and draw unsuspecting bodies to the oh so blatant fun one could spend on them. Challenging the sea's tantrums but inevitably failing to teach even an ounce of discipline.

The seaside it seemed had violently thrown-up infectious happiness.

It had provided the inhabitants with a taste of perfection; and alluring distraction if you will. They all lay down on rectangular shapes of material in a form of a thank you, each and every one willing for their prayers to be answered. On a day like today they will. On a day like today it's angel rays will hit everyone, like a thick cloud of a barbecue - attacking every soul with it's stench. Yet lost souls still scour the depths for a place to belong, or merely feel diving down to the Gods below would be just as effective as appealing to the above.

Small specks of humanity lost in their own sea of confusion. They'll be back soon. They'll be back.