running on the beach

the pristine white sand was truly inviting. its texture, as a good friend once told me to consider, was something my feet now craved. the morning was overcast. the clouds mirrored the turbulence of its denser sister below. the ocean waves was still in recovery from the night's storm, the unsuspecting beach now bearing remnants of the purifying powers of wind and water. i stood in front of our villa and took a waft of the sea breeze and cast my gaze to as far off a distance as my eyes can take it. a destination was determined, the jagged cove in the end where the sand meets the rocks. i took my shirt off, my sandals off and tightened my shorts. i took a moment to feel the abrasive fineness of the sand between my toes and took a deep breath again, inhaling all the cleansing benefits the sunday morning at boracay offered, hoping in my exhalation, my breath will too take all my woes away. i took the initial step, the catalyst that would determine my task. the next was equal to the first, only more determined, it setting my course. the third was a step of power, the ball of my foot slapping the welcoming, but firm sand. soon, i found my cadence. i was running. i was running against the wind but i didn't mind. i was running past sleepy lodges, houses and quarters. past waking visitors and busy sojourners, past children and their adults, past dogs and their masters. past trees and fences, not bothering to wonder what it must be to look out forever into the sea. past my fears, my worries, my regrets, hoping when i depart tomorrow, i would have at last found my peace.