Grains of sand…
Like grains of sand, they slip through my fingers. Miniscule, sharply edged pieces of glass worn from the passing of time and pressure.
How like sand they are, great in number, yet each one insignificant on its own. They are lost in the sea of their own importance, consumed by group thought, swallowed into some consciousness that doesn’t listen until they can’t talk anymore, or don’t have the energy. They curse the wind that stirs them, hate the feet that walk among them. They despise change, hate progress, lack motivation.
The sea shell. Alone, half buried in the sand, nearly swallowed by their unrelenting waves. It has forgotten its beauty as time has passed by, viewing itself in the mirror that the sand provides. Revealed by the wind, cast into the sun, located and found - plucked from the sea of sand. Released from thousands - millions of bitter voices.
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