Sand in the morning

Sometimes I feel like this. Sand in the morning. A thin crust, the appearance of solidity but a slight push reveals I’m much less structured, made up of gazillion tiny grains. 

And isn’t it so? Aren’t we formlessness appearing as form for a while? Don’t we change our mind and change our cells constantly? 
Well some of us don’t change our minds so much. Sometimes we get salty and crusted into position.