Into the Sea

She stood on the sandy shore, digging her toes into the sand and gazing out over the glimmering water.

It was that point in the day where the sun hadn’t quite begun to set and the moon was peaking over her right shoulder.

The rays of sun trickled down onto the water and seemed to dance melodically along the surface for her.

The tide had begun to come in and the waves started to lick at her feet.

As she looked down, the corners of her mouth raised into an innocent and childlike smile.

She closed her eyes and was whisked away to a memory of a jovial time long ago.

It was a memory of a time when the world made sense to her, and a time when her heart was at peace.

She opened her eyes and started to walk into the water with a controlled eagerness.

She resisted the urge to run and jump head first into the crashing, white, foaming waves.

With each step, she went deeper into the sea and with each step the world behind her began to fade.

She held her hands out to the side and felt the glassy surface of the water along her hands and fingertips.

It was a sensation that was soothing and inviting to her.

She kept walking into the water until it had reached her chest.

She looked toward the vast openness and could see the sun begin to disappear behind the horizon.

She closed her eyes once more and with a deep breath, she gave herself to the ocean.

As soon as the water enveloped her, she could feel all her worries and sorrows drift away.

There were no more issues, no more judgments, no more disappointments, and no more fears.

A quite serenity took a hold of her like a child wrapped tightly in a warm blanket.

She waited right below the surface until the very last second that she could no longer hold her breath.

She broke the surface and took a heavy gasp of air and began to laugh as she wiped some water from her face.

She stayed there, wading in the water for what seemed to be hours.

She never grew tired and she never looked back toward the shore.

When the sun had completely set, she turned back toward the shore and began to swim inland.

With each stroke, she felt the water caress the lines of her body and she felt at one with it.

She could no longer tell where she ended and the water began, they were simply one.

Her feet felt the sandy bottom of the shore and she reluctantly made her way back to where she had stood earlier.

She stood there as the ocean breeze dried the beads of water on her bare skin.

As each drop disappeared, so did her feeling of content and tranquility.

As the last of the water dripped off of her and as the sun began to complete set, she felt a sadness come over her.

She knew the sadness would once again fade, but she knew she had to wait until she was once again one with the water.

Struggle

 

Each morning that he awakes, he struggles to begin the day.

He clutches on to the tranquil solitude of his bed for as long as he can.

He is faced, each day, with a task that seemingly has no end in sight.

Every day he searches for an answer to a question he has never asked.

A question that is as obscure and as faint as a dream or memory.

Yet he continuously struggles to seek the answer to this question.

Every moment, every action, every emotion is defined by this question.

Because of this, he had no definition as to who he was as a man.

He searched for the answers in the warmth of the body of strangers.

He struggled to find the answer at the bottom of countless bottles.

And still he could never find the answer or clarity to the question.

The question soon became his life and entangled his every ounce.

He struggles more now than ever to answer this question that plagues him.

He hopes the answer will set him free and finally give him peace.

He has struggled so fiercely that he cannot see the question is so clear.

He has fought so hard that he has failed to see the question was he.

The question and answer have always remained the same.

He has struggled so hard to make sense of something so simple.

His quest became an obsession and the obsession blinded his search.

He felt alone and defeated by the question that plagued him.

His struggle was so great that he failed to see that everyone around him

Searched for the same question and answer as he did.

Broken

 

I’ve come to the conclusion that I must be broken for that’s what people believe me to be.

They think of me as broken for I do not believe the things they do or view what they see.

I don’t wake up mornings to a prayer or chant I believe will propel me through the day.

I don’t filter words that come from my mouth, but I do put my thoughts in all I say.

There is no glass that is half empty or half full that I use as a guide for me to live by.

I merely see a glass with water that I can reach for when my throat or mouth are dry.

They think me broken because I keep only a few within the confines of my life.

But I’d rather have only a few I trust than those who hide motives sharp as a knife.

They say I live life with no purpose for I have no long-term plans, not a single one.

But to those who have this to say to me, I respond “tomorrow is promised to none”.

My life consists of complex simplicities that have happened and those yet to occur.

I live life in the moment and not in yesterday or tomorrow for they are an obscure blur.

I may not smile on sunny days, I may not enjoy nature as a whole, but I do know content.

I may see things a bit darker than most but it doesn’t mean all I know is contempt.

What I believe in and what my thoughts and actions are base upon is all that I feel.

All my thoughts and actions are based on what I find tangible and what I find to be real.

I can’t apologize if someone believes me to be broken because I feel that I am whole.

I can’t apologize for not being something I am not or for not playing a certain role.

All I can do is remain true to my convictions and continue to live how I choose.

And for those who deem me broken, it is they who in the end shall lose.

Silouhette

He sat there somberly, watching her silhouette grow fainter as she walked away. He wasn’t quite sure what she was thinking or feeling. He was completely unaware as to the expression on her face as she turned and walked on.

Perhaps she did it intentionally, not glancing back that is. Maybe as to spare his heart from the questions of “What if”, or maybe the anguish of a truly knowing. Or maybe she did not want him to ever know. Knowing this was easier for her than he believed. Either way, he was thankful she spared him in such a way.

She would, in this way, remain forever his. As the immortal embrace of Romeo and his Juliet. He would pay tribute to her with no end. Flecks of her unblemished porcelain skin would line the pages he would lay words to. Strands of her hair would be the pen he would clutch as the same words coursed feverishly through his hand. The blood that flowed through his veins that carried her to his heart and to his existence would be the ink that would eternally immortalized her.

She would always continue to be his, along with the memories, as long as his lungs drew breathe. He could never give his muse up. He would more so give up his life than to give up the singular most greatest and prolific love and inspiration of his life. He looked up and noticed her silhouette had completely faded by now.

He felt his eyes well with tears of anguish and tournament, and then an uncontrollable laughter erupted from within. He was utterly baffled as to where this was originating from. He had just witnessed his everything disappear before his very eyes. He realized then the laughter was coming from the sentiments of the joys of knowing her. The tranquility he felt of being in her arms. The serenity and ease his mind felt as he counted each of her lashes as she slept. The passion of tracing her curves and dedicating them to memory, to later explore them again and again, as if finding something new each time. The creativity that flowed through his hands as he sat and gazed upon her beauty and the words that came to be, almost as lovely as her. The love that so many strive for and so many more perish without knowing, he had been fortunate enough to have experienced.

All though shorter than the dawn, it was never bitter and he knew then he had become more of a man and a better one for it. He picked up his journal and tucked it under his arm, and the laughter slipped away between sighs, and wiping the tears from his cheeks, he began to walk away slowly. Gazing down the path they had many times strolled hand in hand, he put his lips together and began to whistle a familiar melody. It was the same melody that had started it all, and with that he became a silhouette that soon came to fade.