Waves go crashing onto the beach, but when they start, who knows where they're going? Maybe I'm a gentle splash waiting to wet your toes in the sand. Maybe I'm the riptide and I'll grab you by the ankles and pull you out, out, out to where you're so alone with me that you drown. Maybe I'm a tsunami and I'll crush your entire life, your family, your whole fucking village in a fit of rage. Maybe I'm more than that, maybe I'm more than this stupid empty metaphor. Maybe I'm less. Maybe I'm hollow inside and the sound it makes when you knock on my chest above my heart is empty and lifeless and only echoes back on your pinkish earlobes.
But in all honest I'm just a person. Just another person. Just another little bit of matter that became sentient only to wonder about it's origins, its sentience, its very existence. Maybe I'll wonder about you, too; maybe you wonder about me. Life is so fucking full of maybe that it could puke, puke up the maybe, the what if, the possibility, and leave us all marching down this relentlessly dull path called destiny.
In the end, it's all up to chance. Nothing but mother fucking chance and the right lighting and the right guess that sends you walking down a poorly lit road in the moonlight with someone that you love only to realize that nothing, nothing is there but you and that person and the rest of the world is dead.
And it always has been.