I remember there being tropical trees. It was night and the breeze of the night brushed onto me. Sand beneath my feet and the water swishing at just the right volume. Not too violent, not too soft. There’d been two clams off into the distance that I can only presume washed up on shore. It’s pearlescent surface glistened the moon off it’s shell. The other had been rotted, lifeless and been robbed of its pearl. Shortly after, the water carried it back into the sea. Not too long after, I woke up.

I wonder what it meant.