Sandcastles

June

I had a castle once. It was made of stones, big strong ones, sealed together. Perched on a hill, amid vibrant green fields and a kind sky. I came one day and found it turned to sand. I tried to pick up a stone, but it slipped through my fingers, particles too fine for me to grasp. I ran around taking handfuls of the sand, searching for the foundation, but I found only desert. I sat in the middle and thought my tears could turn the sand back into stone. The wet sand I thrust back into castles. I’ve been sitting in that sand, building castles.