Ocean blue but it has gone wrong.
Now your head is on fire, your lungs won't keep up. You think of him every night, and then someone else comes around. Some environmentalist saying he's gonna take the gasoline out of the water. You don't want it. You wish to burn forever and remember who poured so much hatred in you.
But his touch is soft on your waves, just one finger riding over your skin, until you're shinning from the sun reflecting on your surface.
He sits along the shore, he doesn't deep in your waters yet, he's waiting for you to calm down. He doesn't ask what you hide in your depths or why. He sits, he looks at the sky, you look at him and reach slowly to his feet. You meet him for a second, in a space where he is going and you're feeling brave.
When they take him away, you're too busy thinking about the man that poured oil until you felt black and sticky. You don't notice his absence. He comes sometimes, but he's far away.
And then you're dying a little, people trying to save you, and you think of the hands that once upon a time graced your ups and downs, and you realize he's been gone for the longest time and you call his name.
And you think he's trapped, you think he's not gonna come. It takes some time, you rage over the beach and the skies rage with you, the wind, the stars. Give him back, our boy, give him back.
Finally, he comes.
When you calm down, you notice you're cleaner than before. You're in awe. How can his mere existence make you bright blue, and not some shade of bruises and cuts? He's there and he's sad and you're sad too, so you rush to meet him, you rush because those knees are falling and the whole world around you rushes, time stops.
He doesn't fall. He doesn't fall. You don't know what he does, you're a little too disturbed. He starts cleaning you once more, even when he's tired. His hair is white now, you want to take him far away. He cleans you and you desire, like never before, for him to lay over you while you both drift.
And so you do. He let's you around him, gently, lets you move him right and left, rocking him with the tenderness of a newborn feeling, someone you don't want to break.
For you mind was on your father and how he break your heart, but now you see the boy with the hand on his face sitting on the bar, playing with his drink, and you don't feel like a failure.
You feel like an ocean, ancient, wise, a force of nature capable of wrecking ships for him.
Ask me to come along, you think.
Like in your dreams, he turning your way.
Your heart beats.
He says your name.
And you catch fire. Flames so bright, no oil or gasoline could had produce it, only the matters of the heart.
