I have a friend who wants to take me to the beach at night. She wants to walk with me, in silence, words washing over us unspoken but strong and show me the magic of the tide in darkness. I�ve never walked along the ocean at night, when the glare of the sun doesn�t beat down on my brow making me yearn for the shade of a valley or orchard, but she insists that the beach at night is the most beautiful thing she�s ever encountered, and I believe her, matching her whimsical grin with my own. Her clear, grey-blue eyes, which I imagine are the exact color of the Caribbean, travels faster than her smile, and by the time the corner of her lips catch up, her eyes are already on a moon-kissed beach. By the quick intake of her breath, I know I�ve been left behind, and I adore her for leaving me behind, for finding her inner calm, on a night-soaked beach.