Prologue

"Are we being emotional? ... Are we making this more than what it actually is?"

If one can materialise time, it shall be no other than the scary wave. If one can materialise souls, they shall be no other than stones.

Stones rest in the finite sand. The wave hits the shore. It does what it does whenever it wants. However, its irregular patterns have a rhythm, maybe even a purpose. But no one knows what it is or will ever do, except for the wave itself. Whenever it hits the shore on which the stones rest, it makes them move. For better or worse, no one can stop the impacts on which the wave have on the stones, or rather the stones have on their neighbours. I doubt even the wave or the stones themselves can. The implications can be of any magnitude depending on where the stones end up before the next forced migration. Sometimes the wave drives the stones closer together, and sometimes it drives them apart, either way without a second thought of the stones' desires.

Regardless, the wave does wash the stones, makes them cleaner, gives them more colours, and sometimes even make them grow stronger. One by one, the stones transform. Some might even become gems. And some might be lucky enough to just take a detour and eventually meet again, stronger and better. Still, I am the type of person, who wants to have full control of my life. It pains me to watch the wave reign so gloriously in its contradictorily kind and merciless way. But no power I have. I can only observe and write about it.

This is a short story of how three stones are brought together and compelled to separate by the coldhearted wave. Because of the time the trio spent together and the things they shared and related to one another, they each have left permanent imprints on the others' lives. Despite the short span that they are left at the perfect distance to one another, there have been sparks and explosions - expected and unexpected; describable and indescribable included - inside their cores. Those feelings or thoughts that are indescribable may as well be better off in memories, in their hearts. And every once in a while, when something reminds them of those memories or when they reminisce about them, they smile a little. Their hearts might ache a little, too. Sometimes, both co-occur.

But it is okay. I don't want it to be okay.