A line of footsteps imprinted on the dunes.

Nowhere to go from here. Not actually; everywhere, of course, for I'm not really trapped in my mind, in my memory, just everything triggers a flood of snapshots, riffling through the pages of a fading album behind my eyes. Sentences, words, are triggered too, but I don't write them down and they disappear, half-crafted, roughly sandpapered to a semblance of form, but never engraved. So they swirl around in my mind's sea as well, drowned under the riotous turbulence of the mist-grey waves -- but unlike the memories, they do not resurface.