I feel crazed right now.
Uneasy, anxious, restless. On the verge of tears over nothing. or everything.
I'm losing myself again. Into mundane routines, and forgettable faces and awful attitudes.
I ran on the beach the other night,
It was the first time I saw her since...well maybe last summer.
It was the first "warm" night of the season and she was rolling eagerly to the shore.
The roar of her tumbling onto the sand, the sounds of the pebbles running under her pull.
I ran fast. I knew I would tire quickly but it felt great to break free. I wasn't on a treadmill. Not on a lined track. Not even a carved path in the woods. So I zig zagged.
I jumped over rocks, I dashed through thick sand, I skirted the waters' edge daring her to lap against my brand new nikes.
I sped like a jaeger down the beach. Transatlanticism crooned in my ear. Softly so I could hear the sea. How fitting.
"I need you so much closer.."
I ran through the burning cramp in my side. My chest heaved as my oxygen-starved lungs gulped in the briny air. Twice I stumbled, and on the third time I allowed myself to collapse in the damp sand. There I sat, the night sky incasing me and her in a velvety blanket of indigo and stars.
Ahead was a sand castle.
In many aspects it was perfect.
About three feet ahead of me it stood, looking out into her. Two large towers flanked a center rectangular fortress with many twigs and dried seaweed sticking out. I waited, as high tide became inevitable. She ebbed and flowed, easy at first, coming on subtly, like a romantic gesture. The castle stood straight, not even its outer edges crumbled.
One mighty wave jumped higher than the others had. She was persistent, and when the foam fizzed into the sand, I was slightly shocked to see only half a tower missing. The castle was strong. Resistant. It did not want to give in.
But both me and the small sand castle knew what was ahead. It would relinquish itself back to the ocean. That is where it had come from. Where everything comes from.
But I felt it my duty to stay, I was the only one witnessing such a fine creation crumbling to its end.
It was gradual, no single wave destroyed it. She took it back slowly, but she knew it would be hers. A patient hunter she had no need to hurry. I waited.
Would she take me too? I was hers.
I imagined myself staying rooted in the middle of the beach, as the ocean slowly rose with the moon, as my breath turned into bubbles and my body became weightless.
"Your love is gonna drown."
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
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I have no creativity,
I am despaired by it.
I am a writer
With no words.
I am the thinker
With no thoughts.
I am the traveller
Who is lost?
Surprisingly, some of my best posts came out of my deepest depression.
When I felt the most in tune with my thoughts and emotions,
as raw and violent and dark as they were.
Now I feel marooned, alone.
I'm on a distant island
that is empty
I am not sad
I am not quite happy either.
I am waiting
Open to thoughts,
But I am only...........................................................................................................
Friday, April 8, 2011
My creativity is pent up.
Making my fingers quick to speak
before my brain registers their words.
two separate entities
refusing to cooperate.
ee cummings is brilliant.
my feelings feel stiff
when they are loose
so are my thoughgts
i decided today i need more yoga in my life
and less stress
love love love.
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Love is a seedling
in the richest of black soil.
It reaches for the sun,
green and snappy.
It's gentle roots,
young and fresh,
grip the earth with
an intention for life.
they're so tiny, so fragile.
like you eyelashes brushing my cheek
as your lips rest on my neck
and we dream deeply
in the night.
By eyelashes. Lips. Love.