#pskfl

Guyyyysssssss

Every one needs their paradise, a place to isolate yourself from the crashing waves we call life. The sand sinks in between your toes, and you let it; you let it fill those empty spaces that no one could possible fill. The sun kisses your skin because there was no one there to do so in the first place. The sunscreen you hated as a kid now becomes a necessity, because as you matured, you realized you need that protection from the outside world because who's there to do it for you. Silence as you stand just a couple tides away from the waters. People beyond the waves are cold, but not near as cold as the water in your right hand. But you let it trickle down your throat, because it's the only thing to cool your pain and freeze you in this time, in this life, on this island you call paradise. But you won't find me there. With headphones in, isolation sets. The black fabric caresses the most disgusting part of my body because only I know no one would love me enough to protect me like my shoes. The salt on my lips remind me of the sweat that we call hard work because only I can work as hard and efficient as my mind allows me. Mind over matter is a matter of the mind. And no one but myself can control that. Silence as I stand just a couple steps away from the empty stands I never once glance at during a game. The blue Powerade rushes down my throat and I let it, because although the color is deeper than any other feelings that I've had, the power of being my own aid is the best type of paradise I could ask for. The power to control your motivation, the power to control your potential for greatness, the power to overcome your troubles through an act of independence, that's my paradise. A place I can isolate myself and only myself to become the person I want to become when there's no one but myself on that hardwood floor I call paradise.

“Can you fall in love twice?”

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

White bubbles race towards land, a foundation that seems strong and willing but remains a slippery slope. Foam fingertips brush against tan skin but only for an instant, as if the moon is begging her home. Clear vision reaches the undertow, only to be released with a grasp of air with lost conch and cloud filled waves intertwined. Yet the edge of intimacy still beckons her touch. She yearns for the moon to call a spring tide, when her lips can kiss the salt upon the sand yet neap deep causes her struggle. Girls amble along the shore of her world, having their very flesh feel the earth’s epidermis. Envious waters rumble and quake break surface, but not near enough to reach the beloved. What she thought was tidal waves was only false anger diminished by fret. Caught in the 90 degree angle with her light and source of hope that you would think that everything was right! But the bubbles crawl up the shore and only briskly touch the source of its belonging and yet the land knows none. Brisk waters, try as they might, try to compromise with the moon; every day she tries again and yet again, she is granted only one brisk, soft touch, if even that, and again, the bubbles rise to the edge of intimacy, only to leave some behind to fade. It’s a game of push or pull, sink or swim, yet the sand has no idea the tug it has on the waves.

Late Night Thoughts

I really need to stop doing this…