If the ocean belongs to the shore - do we all have the one that belongs to us?
You feel it in the hairs on your neck, when the ocean retreats from the shore - the longing.
As she pulls back, does she find it hard to breath? Does she feel the ache, the need, the desire? Does she weep as she hears the grains of sand dry out and call to her?
The silence from the retreating waves, is it a moment suspended in time? Full of hope and longing? The sudden reality that she has left, and the desperate need for her return.
The symphony, the eruption of the orchestra as she crashes back home. The excitement, the high jumps, the folding of the waves as she rushes back. It's a dance, a performance, an expression.
The roars of rejoice.
For a short lived time, until she pulls back again and the dance continues. Each move dependant on the one before and the one that will follow. So dependant on everything rotating as it should, the yin, the yang, perfect harmonious balance.
A drop of the ocean could fall from you.
Id wipe it away, take it away, treasure it always.
The blue of the sky reflects in that ocean, while the shades of the sand lives in my locks.
The salt in the tear, left to lay on the lip.
The void of the ocean unknown, the vast scale of it unexplored.
The ship wreck gains no closure, just the sight of a wooden beam in the distance.
The damage finally at peace, with small fragments holding onto the joy of the happening. The pain? Laid in the depths, locked away but always lurking. Prompted by those gentle synchronicities.
You are awake in my breath.
