For words, she knows, even in their best combinations, 

must fall short of the reality.

And not all the words that she has could describe her joy and happiness. 

Instead, she fears she will risk reducing these most sublime experiences to mechanical movements, 

pictures only. Images at which another might cringe.

And will not such an interruption, this other part of eyes, 

ultimately change the event and take something precious from it?

In the time it takes for her to walk from the bathhouse at the seawall of Fortune’s Rocks, 

where she has left her boots and discreetly pulled off her stockings, 

to the waterline along which the sea continually licks the pink and silver sand, 

she learns about desire. 

- Fortune's Rocks