This evening, I needed to clear my head and so decided to seek out the sea cave where I played as a child. The cave is only accessible at low tide. I clambered over barnacled rocks and waded through smelly rockpools in my flip flops, risking life and limb, to get there. I must be getting old. The cave looks much smaller than I recall. I had hoped to use the remains of the day to locate my initials, which my father had carved into the Rock face decades ago. After thirty minutes, I call it quits. Everyone else is still there, but I have been washed away. My one eternal mark on the world is gone. This makes me sad. I tell my father that the sea has erased me. He doesn’t believe it.