Your bare feet step off the walkway of wooden boards onto the scorching, white sand. With each step taken to get to the shoreline, the pesky grains engulf and stick your feet like leeches. In between the crashes of each wave, you hear the ocean howling your name. Once you've arrived at the brine, your toes sit on the edge of the wet, but dry sand. The salt water waves slowly creep onto your heels to cleanse the grit off. Being mesmerized by each wave coming and going because hearing each wave crash is such a bliss.
But laying here listening, thinking of each individual wave, I feel certain I am the same. In line, you stand, waiting for your turn to go next- to be watched, listened to, and yearned for. Once it's your turn, you're so loved. You're taken pictures of, adored, and maybe even splashed in. Milliseconds later it seems, you're being yanked back into the vastness of the unknown. You're being pulled back further until the line of the seaside is nowhere in sight. Further you're being pulled back until nothing around you is recognizable. Although there's plenty of waves just like you, there's no support of land which you've based your sanity off of. Just moments before, you yearn to feel those seconds of bliss & spotlight, but because of it, you're stranded. This is truly what they mean when they say "I'm lost at sea."

She's lost; her mind is stranded while her body is surrounded by bodies.