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She looked out onto the slowly rolling tide. The wind rushed through her tawny hair, which she tried in vain to

hold down with her right hand. Her nails were painted a soft pink that matched her gauzy dress.


He was riding the waves on a teal surf-board. His blond hair was matted to his tanned forehead with sweat and

salt-water. He was immersed in his surfing. He only knew the waves, and he wanted to tame them.

He glanced up at one point and noticed the painted sky, saw the sun peering over the ocean’s furthest visible


He sighed regretfully and pushed himself to the nearly vacant beach. The sand was golden, and it felt nice under

his bare feet.

He was playing with the band tonight at a local bar. He hated the smell of bars. They smelled unclean to him, like

nobody had anything better to do than to get drunk out of his mind.


She was sitting in her room. The peach walls were glowing in the dim light. She was working on her poetry.

She felt that the paper had a personality, and the only way to let it be itself was to fill its emptiness with flowing


She ran her hands through her tawny hair, and thought of him.

She didn’t know how to describe him with merely twenty-six letters. Surely someone such as him would need

many more letters to even come close to describing his eyes.

She looked about, the dozens upon dozens of half filled papers.

She tucked her notepad and a pen into a black satchel. Then she escaped into the newly born night.


The bar was crowded.

He thought apprehensively about the songs that would shortly be leaving his lips.

He strummed his guitar idly. He looked at each person in the bar, examining their faces, expressions.

They all seemed to be in a different universe; millions of miles from his sea-green eyes.

He didn’t even know where the other band members were. He didn’t even care, he just wanted to escape this

sickening atmosphere.


She was alone on the beach. the stars looked down on her, almost questioning her prescence.

She took her notepad out of her black satchel, and started the flowing script that was her own. The ocean lapped

up at the beach, hungrily trying to push itself further into the sand.

She tried to capture the quiet moment.


He saw someone on the beach in front of him. A black satchel, next to a tawny haired girl.

He wondered why anyone would be out at this time of night.

He walked up slowly behind her, and sat down a few feet away from her. She didn’t look up, for she seemed

absorbed with writing furiously in a notepad.

When she finally stopped for a moment, she gasped, and stared at him.

He looked into her blue eyes, like the ocean.

“I’m sorry, I was trying to write about the waves,” she said, tucking her hair behind one ear.

“May I read it?” he asked, already thinking about what he might write about the rolling waves.

“I suppose so. I’ve just written it though,” she explained, as she handed him the tiny notepad.

He examined every word, and silently handed it back to her.

“Was it that bad?” she asked in a small voice.

“No, it was exactly what I would have written about them.” He stretched his legs out.

He was exactly how she remembered him. Blond hair, eyes like the ocean, and something in his presence that

was magnetic.

She looked nervously at her notepad.

“Aren’t the stars watching us?” he asked, as he looked at the sky.

She didn’t know what to say, because that was the way she felt. She stared intently at him until he looked at her.

The words that passed between them flowed like the waves that were so precious to the both of them. And still

on the golden beach, the tawny-haired girl, and the ocean-eyed boy watched the sun caress the waves in celebration

of morning.

And together they came up with a description of the morning with only twenty-six letters.

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