The sun is golden and it splashes against the golden sand battered by the golden waves with the golden seafoam washing like molten steel over the endless forever gold of the coast forever eating at the land forever sinking into the golden ocean.

Time does move forward here, seconds piling on top of seconds like the grains of sand formed by the sighing yield of the craggy titans cliffs; a surrender by inaction, rocks and boulders and rough stone facing a forced retreat into infinitesimilarity to dust. It is nothing, and what was left – the places we built and lived in and told each other stories in and laughed and cried and fucked and slept and woke and slept again were hollowed out long ago before the sea (the golden sea) moved in to take the place of our long forgotten ghosts.

And in the water the sand swirls by the backwash of the waves and beneath the surface it sifts and what we knew settles down down down until the light – the golden sun – is nothing but a haze and it’s far and it’s cold at the bottom and nothing moves anymore not because it can’t but because it’s sunken.