You are a rock.
Sometimes it’s not even the big waves that get you.
You are a rock. You’re on the seashore, and you’ve experienced countless waves; the initial impact of the crest when it breaks, the mass of water carrying the inevitable mass of debris rushing pass you, then the same mass of water retreating away from the seashore. Sometimes the weather is calm, and the waves are gentle. Sometimes the wind blows constant, and the waves are relentless. Sometimes the sea rages, the the waves crash against you with unfathomable power. Those days don’t occur very often, and you somehow manage to hold on to your metaphorical grip on the sands. You are a sturdy boulder.
Yet, even after the storms, the waves keep coming. Minute after minute, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. Gentle, but persistent; weak, yet unyielding. The skies are calm, and you’ve withstood much harsher weather than this without being blown away, but why? Why are you dying?
Bit by bit, the waves corrode you. Pieces of you get left behind and are lost amidst the serene seas. Fragments detach and gets grounded up into pebbles. Then one day, a particularly big wave come and- it doesn’t churn you away. No. It blows you apart. You turn into sand.
The waves continue crashing onto the shore.