(from last night)
For days now the wind has been whispering to me of impending end. "It comes," it breaths into my ears, echoing, seeping down into my heart. "Why speak to me of ends?" I plead. "They do not belong to me - I am but young..."
"Nay," comes the reply.
Sitting here on the sand, the echoes of a beginning come back to me. But the murmur of the winds words in the waves is louder and I cannot ignore it.
The sea is, as it always is to my ears, mourning the sorrows of the world. I think I know of no sound in nature so evoking of sorrow than the sea...

Now those sad currents are only in my head. Quiet night sounds blend with the music playing in the empty coffee shop. It too has a melancholy tenor. Or perhaps, I am simply projecting my humor upon the world at large. I am alone, and though missing one, content enough. It occurs to me that there is a difference between feeling alone and being lonely...the former is beyond one's own control, the latter has more to do with the will.

"End."
The almost silence presses upon me. I nod acquiescence within myself and move on.