A clear good. A good away from confusions, blurs, hindrances, deadly thoughts, and yourself. Well, the real yourself I guess.

A good filled with rawness. Filled with random, bright flowers you come across. Filled with odd, gooey, green stuff you find stuck on your finger. Filled with the immersion of love you pour onto an observantly neglected animal.

A good away from sorrow. The sorrow you’re reminded of when you look at those rocks, and the places you used to sit at. The sorrow that felt like the helpless dig your feet feel when the wave pushes you closer.

A good similar to the clutch. The same clutch you vigorously enforce on the sand when the water tries. Alive, your limbs, and you. To push the invitation, to live here, to allow yourself little more time. To clutch for life. 

What else is good if you’re not clutching for your life everyday?

A good.