Without lunar light, watery expanse and celestial field kiss so deeply molecular density is an afterthought for morning.  Wind swept.  That was supposed to be sexy, right?  Atlantic winds are assaulting unbound hair, but the preoccupation is with exposure as a repeating reality.  Toes twist absently at a lack of socks, but the presence of sand within untied boots.  Even without that tempting backwards glance to the sand dunes, she is certain no one exists for miles.  But anonymous fear has a winning streak that it refuses to relinquish.  

Compulsion is a bitch, some voice says to the salt.  
And when foam draws nearer, These are shelterless shores.  Caution is akin to wisdom.
Apprehension doesn't help me sleep at night.  See me standing here?
As the waters fall back, You're standing alone.
Is there another option?
Yes.
No there isn't.  Tomorrow she intends on bringing a blanket.