I cross my legs and bury my toes in the sand. The waves roll in, salty white foam on their folding edges. The waves blend with the sky, grey, grey. Grey sand. Grey pigeons with rumpled feathers courting, looking for love. On the pier, a girl sits, feet dangling over the edge. Her lover sits behind her, arms wrapped around her middle, cheek to cheek, lips dancing on lips. I watch children skipping on the shore, carrying buckets of shells and ocean water to their mothers. Their two piece swimsuits are bright pink, legs thin and brown. Behind me, my teammates stand in a circle. Their hair blows in the wind. They shuffle their feet, feel the crushed shells beneath their soles. I sit apart from them. Maybe it’s the writer’s soul in me, that keeps me distant. Maybe it’s that I always have, always will long for a connection that is deeper than I can express. But with the waves calming push against the shore and the salty air on my face, I know that I am never truly alone, even in solitude.