The waves were full of voice unlike the world around them. Everywhere was silent, and the only other sounds were so soft you wouldn’t mind them. Like: the stars’ gentle sparkle, off on, off on, creating silver splashes in the vast water; the moon’s direct beams falling on its rubber surface like a spear cutting right through; my own breathing in harmony with each swift move of the said sea. It was only a matter of present, the moments synced to the space, emitting the same power: of might, of being the only thing that mattered.
Life is not a bed of roses. You say that like it’s a good thing. If I am not happy slash I feel really bad about something, there must be a way to make it right. You can’t shirk that responsibility and simply put it on those look-good quotes. Because first of all, I never asked for a bed of roses. And if that’s what you want to bring up, tell me why it becomes important only when I most need a rose? Life’s not fair, life’s a test, life’s a this, life’s crap. I don’t care about that, I care about now.
I walk further into the benevolent stretch and find the waves welcoming me. Singing more joyfully, as if meeting friends was a custom for them too. I look down and smile, and then half sit. My hand meets water and a shiver runs through me.
Why am I still scared? How could someone be aware of something and still be unable to get out of it? How can you not be your own magician, tricking life to set on the right zone again?
There’s no direction when you are standing between waves. There is just immensity. A compass self-connects to the tick tock of the heart, and there the music stays, for as long as the heart lives…