Rising sea.

The sea saw her one night as he moved and played with the sand along the shore.

He saw her reflection in the water, swimming back toward the light that beamed into even the deepest, darkest places.

Watching the light, he wondered if he could touch it—but every time he reached out, his hand disappeared.

Following the reflection, he rose to the surface and walked across it until he found the source.

On a night of a full moon, he looked up and watched her brightness shine onto the water.

The sea began to move itself, shaping the surface to keep her light trapped inside—if only a little. To keep a part of it, just in case she was gone.

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t touch it or hold it.
So he stared at the moon instead, memorizing her details—her curves, her dimples.

That night, the sea rose as high as he could, trying to reach her. But she shone brightly from the sky, untouched.

The next night he searched for her again, and she was there—but something was missing.
The sea rose once more, searching within himself to fill what was gone, but before he understood what it was, morning came and she disappeared.

The night after, she smiled. Her reflection showed it clearly.
There she was—smiling in the middle of the sky.

It lasted for a few nights. Then one night, she was gone.

He didn’t rise that night. He only watched, pacing back and forth where her reflection usually rested.

The sea returned to its routine, but it felt tasteless. Pointless.
The night passed, but it didn’t matter.

The next night, she smiled again.
Carefully, playfully, the sea rose—afraid that too much movement might break the smile.

This went on for several nights, until one evening she was there in full force, as bright as ever.
So the sea rose with all his might, trying to reach her—but it was still not enough.

So instead, he played with her reflection.
And for one brief moment, as he passed directly beneath it, he disappeared.

Under the moon’s light, the sea lost himself.

The following night he searched again for what was missing, never finding it—until he understood it had always been part of the dance.

After that, she smiled. He played.
Then the next night, she was gone.

So the sea rose when she appeared, and fell when she left.
And to this day—old as the sea now is—he keeps trying.

And it’s all worth it.
Even if he never reaches her.

Because sometimes,
he sees her smile.