Here I stand. The wave has receded. I did not fight it, yet I am not soaked, my tears are the only drops on me. My cigarette still glows, a stream of smoke trailing from its end. I did not fear it. I did not run, but now it is gone, and I am still dead. Perhaps the wave was not so large. Perhaps I was blinded by my want of life and love. Or, maybe it will recoil to drive into me with an even greater fury.