At 25 my sandcastle crumbled under the weight of its own make.

        The water rose higher than I could climb.

        And I was drowning in its wake.

 

        How many grains of sand make up a pile?

 

            “Everything will be fine,”

                one grain of sand.

 

            “Just don’t think about it,”

                another grain of sand.

 

            “One day you’ll be happy,”

                even more stupid sand.

 

        How many white lies until it’s called denial?

 

        And it just kept creeping in like the tide,

            a ghost,

            a suspicion,

            something that wouldn’t die. 

 

        It became the face in the mirror

            shaming me to silence

        And leaving me alone to my fear. 

 

        My sandcastle was made to be broken, but I didn’t know it.

        I was receding from my edges, but I didn’t ever show it. 

 

            “Reach higher.”

            “Go farther.”

            “Keep going and don’t ever stop.”

    

        I was determined to reach that unattainable top.

                                                         -S.E. Crawford