I imagine the shapes of shadows we’ve left there sunbathing on the surface of the sea. Pieces of clothes have sunk to the bottom leaving the shapes, and we continue to exist in spite of waves. Is the water too salty to swallow? Are fish thirsty sometimes? We ask too many questions while our heads float above the surface. There is something in being asked to listen to the sounds inside a shell – where childhood ends, poetry begins. All the prettiest stories I leave unfinished. And they become a song, a wave, a sea foam, emerge from the water, become covered with sand, and then cling to someone else’s feet, bound to dance their way through space, space of undesirable ends. ©Tina Bikic