She sits on the beach, gazing longingly out along the horizon. Only at sunset, sunrise breaks too early. and she hoards what sleep she can achieve.
At dusk the water takes on an ebony sheen. Nothing like the crystal clear, emerald of day, where she can stand chest-deep in the waves and still see the ghostly white fish swimming around her even more ghostly white legs.
It’s the blackness that intrigues her. She wonders at the mysteries hidden in its depths. Even white-hot Sol can’t illuminate the secrets of the sea. Sinking into the ink, the sun hisses its discontent at having to go to sleep.
She envies the sun, that it can rest for so long, while she struggles for every minute of slumber. Then she sees the first star come out, and she knows the sun would be jealous of her.