Looking out through the rain-stained window. Looking up seeing the trees shoot past under the still sky. The clouds look grainy, like grey sand. After focusing closely, I zoom out to take in the whole sky. And i'm not looking at the sky, I'm seeing sand under the pure turquoise shallows, dotted with white surf. Zooming past, far overhead.
- - -
Wet skin rolls across dry sand. Pulls away, encrusted in glittering beige. The cold grips my ankles, crawls up my legs, grainy spiders. A million minute fragments of rock. I tread on a sharp patch, and stumble. Heels sink into the powdery sand, in my cuts, in my crevices, in my mouth and eyes.
Plunge in headfirst, the only way to forget the salt-cold slap. I surface, gasping. The sunlight stings my eyes. I swim far, far out until I leave the children behind, leave the surfers behind, way out of my depth. It feels good. I catch waves before they break, curving my body over the swell. Feeling the lift in the small of my back.
I spend hours at a time longing for immersion, longing for cool, longing for something else bigger and stronger. And now here i am, neck-deep in the Atlantic Ocean.
It feels good.
- - - -
Words keep slipping out of my head. As soon as they arrive they trail off, leaving a lingering taste. Nothing more.
The TV is slowly sapping my brain of thought. And more. It is turning every though to glass and setting my brain at a diagonal. Everything slides off and crashes onto the tiled floor. Crashing, crystalline and fragile.
