They are for building walls on sand, wet from a wave, an interminable wish that begins under the sun. Imagine a fish with a fear of water, how it would seek shelter in-between the shiny ones, a brief but intense life.
A morning jogger notices a black-spotted stone, smooth and circular, with a slightly rugged corner, stares at it. Decorations, curiosity and leaps over the walls, and when it's time to go home, the most ancient one, dusk-coloured, stands out as if it were a precious fossil. In water nothing is lost.
Someone comments on its reflection.
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