The Bookshelf in the Forest

       I let it flow through my hands. It was a shimmering, nearly transparent gold, with streaks of blues, greens, and purples throughout it. It glimmered in the sunlight, casting the colors onto my hand. I held it upwards to let the colors cast themselves on my face, purples dancing in my eyes. I put it on the table beside me and let it roll, however, it became caught in a divot in the wood. I watched it for some time, and couldn’t help but wonder how it had never broken before. With the amount of times I had dropped it, you would’ve expected the glass to break into a billion pieces. Yet it never had. Not even the slightest dent or bruise upon it. I grabbed a book, opened the page, and then put the object to my eye. The words were magnified and distorted, the oddness of this little round piece of glass filled me with wonder. Yet it was a simple thing, merely a child’s toy. Yet I adored it more than I could ever love anything, or anyone, else.

       The water rushed along my legs, my feet buried in the sand. I could occasionally feel the fish brushing up against my ankles, trying to figure out what I was. The water was cold, as it always was in the mornings. I looked down and rummaged my hands through the sand beneath me, trying to find some rock. I did this every morning; tried to find a rock, and just admired it for some time. Today’s rock was one of my favorites; a shimmery grey that looked lavender when wet. It glistened in the sunlight, and was perfectly round, and fit nicely in the palm of my hand. As the sunrise faded into day, I would hoist myself onto the dock. I wouldn’t stand as I did in the water before; I would sit and just listen to the world. Listen to the sounds of the songbirds looking for worms, the sounds of the waves hitting the dock, the mosquitos, and bees that whizzed past my ears. I would look into the water and see the fish swimming around, the sea plants swaying in the waves, and...