Dressed in a white linen shirt and nothing else, she sits by the balcony of the beach shack, gazing at the water body ahead. Somewhere between the late hours of the night and wee hours of morning, she sits on the pavement, smoking. Beneath the fading dark blue sky, the symphony of waves hit the ears. Music – she terms it. She unfastens her hair and brings it all on one side. “ How virgin is the world around, how serene”, rubs her neck, feels the hickey, “Some mortals just wreck it up”.She notices the rocker sway, senses someone there, looks at it but stays still, chokes, closes her eyes, takes a long drag, puffs out, we hear the waves nodding in accordance. She gets up and finds her feet getting pulled towards the shore. Every step leaves a mark on the wet sand, “ how metaphorical!” she exclaims as she feels her neck again, looks at the rocker, and continues walking towards the sea. She can feel her soul tonight; she can feel it’s at peace. She feels like a child, innocent, pure, yet a woman, strong, fragile by choice. She pauses as she reaches the shore, she feels orgasmic looking at the water ahead. Sensuous just got redefined for her. Doesn’t spot deception, neither a motive, nor it luring her, it feels like an entity, an entity where she longs to belong, longs to be. She wants to surrender, wants to give in to a life that lies ahead. She turns back, feels the hickey again. She can hear the vacant rocker getting violent. A teardrop runs down her cheek, she lets it. “Which stream is much pure, rather which one is more real?” she thinks aloud. The sky is turning white by the minute now; she looks at the sea, “Tomorrow. Maybe” and turns around. The waves retract, there are people everywhere, its dawn again. She looks back at the shore and wipes out the tears.