Eliot's

The waves hear and know every sound that reaches them, from the shore and across. They know you by your first kiss, from the uncertain sounds of spontaneity, your arms entwined around that lover's neck, and the ring tone of your mobile phone that cut through. They hear the sound of your startle and your feet crashing the sand, your hurried landing onto reality. Sometimes they borrow glitter from the moon and as they move silkily towards you, they hear your ragged breath, your chase, your hurried step back as they hurtle near, the futile slap of one feet over the other to remove the wet stinging sand that they caressed you with. If you stand still, unafraid, they carve you a pedestal. They know your voice, and the language of your laughter. They know the stories you never tell anyone. They collect the thoughts you throw with every pebble, mimicking your mind-ripples. Yes, the sea sends her ears to the shore to listen to you.