WORTH 50,000: DAY TWENTY - Après moi, le déluge

[Source.]

He'd wanted a legacy. He wanted it to stand on the spot where he was born, so he obliterated his mother's loving, leaning beach home. Erased the white walls and dancing blue curtains of the three rooms where he'd broken his first bone and had his first kiss, let bonbons melt on his tongue. He wanted something that would last longer than the flesh of his flesh. Something to command the view, so that when no one remembered his face, they would still mark his effect on the landscape with their very breath.

But nature does not care for legacy. It does not pause to wait for men to pass. It aggressively heals its scars, because nature knows what so many of us don't, and that's that if you are not happy you'll never make anyone else happy.

The ocean reclaims a foot a year, but souls, trusts, and hearts are harder won.