I walked on the seashore searching for seashells.
The beach was full of them, some were broken in tiny pieces, some others were intact. I looked at them and I remembered when I used to collect pebbles and stuff on the shore when I was little.
I carried on walking, but I couldn't manage to find the seashell I was looking for, perhaps a big one, spiral-shaped. There were just those little ones, nice but still not what I was searching for. I took some, they were ok but after few moments I put them back where they were, in the wet sand.
It's always me. I go searching for something special, something which could astonish me, at last. I perfectly know (well.. maybe not that perfectly) what I'm looking for but I can't find it anyway. I try to be content with what I see around me, but I know I'll never be content for real with that and although I recognise it is useless, I keep on my ephemeral research, without surrendering at all.
Should never go to seaside if these are the results I get except a red-burning skin.