La última playa

I have been given a gift, though I cannot receive it anew, as I've owned it all along.
A gift and a curse. A spell I am under, a hex so complex and contrary.
Cursed by this gift which my soul is longing to forgive. I cannot tell you what it is, for I do not want to spoil the surprise. Nor may I define it, yet I cannot hide it from plain sight. It is quite obvious, simple, and completely inexplicable, like a rainbow in the dark. I do not really want it, but perhaps I cannot live without it. The closer I try to look at it, the less it can be seen or understood. While the more I try to ignore it, the more it appears as light of day in all things great or small. Just when I think I have it in my grip, I realize it is beyond my reach and quite uncontrollable. And the farther I run from it in fear and loathing, the easier it becomes to demonstrate with precision and manual dexterity. Each time I wish to give it away, the more intertwined it grows into my very fiber. And when I attempt to own it, more of it slips through the cracks in my foundation. Hoarding it only brings souls in need to my doorstep. With it I can predict the future, or correct the past, yet I remain cursed as a grain of sand on the last beach.