Was it?

She stood facing the sea.
The waves rushing to her feet and receding back.
The wind blowing through her hair.
The water and the wind in their own element.

She stood there, gazing into the horizon. You could never be sure if it were the memories of the past or the picture of a perfect future that she was looking into. Her face never conveyed any emotion other than wistfulness; sometimes it missed that also, altogether.

She stood there, trying to hold a fistful of sand, tightly in the palm of her hand. Trying to hold onto every grain; all it did was slip away through her fingers. She stood there again, with a fistful of sand, in the palm of her hand, only for it to be blown away by the wind.

The sand never was hers, was it?