The smell is what I remember most.
While pretty, the color doesn't come close.
Not the vibrant blue waves
In it's contrast to the pale sand it craves.
While unique, neither do the sounds
Of child and seagull shrieks playful in the background.
While elaborate, the textures cannot compete either
Despite every grain and drop in defined feature.
It’s the salty crisp air of the water blowing
That, through me, the whole sea seems to be flowing
The smell is what brings impressions of nostalgic
To make my departing that much more tragic.