The canvas tilts beneath me and, feet secure, I lean back across the hard hull. Salt and cold splash onto my skin and warm under the sun. Even the wind on me is warm. And I am at your back. By your side. You have turned this light thing into a chariot over the water. Out here, lines in hand, you have no doubts. You have not forgotten one single thing about this love. Strength and joy radiating fiercely, you carry me along. And for that, I purely adore you.
It cannot last. Balance relinquished, I snuff my regret quickly (as I never can on land.) Picking my spot, I jump- light and precise- into the ocean. Carefully avoiding ropes and sails. No entanglements. Just the way you taught me. Just the way you liked it. Until the day you walked down those stairs and mistook me for an angel- inside and out.
But I am a real girl slowly treading these southern coastal waters. This is all I have ever been. Too good for you. Wilder than all of them. Still not bad enough. I cannot win. You are a fool. Love bleeds away into the water.
I watch as you stand on one edge and pull the mast upright. Shoulders, torso, thighs- those muscles doing what they do- and I think you are beautiful. Man in his element. I have never found anything on this planet more compelling. Leviathan stirs in the depths below me and I say, “Hush. Go back to sleep.” And to my body, “Be quiet. There is nothing to fear.” And then I am rolling up and down on this beautiful ocean.
Wet fabric clears the water. And wind, overeager with the punch line, jumps at it right away. I watch as you go- lovely, lovely. Wanted- always wanted- by those who mean you harm and ones who wish you well. (I can no longer tell where I belong.) You are shouting to me while the distance pushes us apart. I still my heart and lift my head. Perfectly quiet- to hear your words. (Woman does not live by bread alone.) I realize I am a fool to wait.
I wish it were me you were afraid to lose. I do not give a shit about your cooler full of beer.
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Well said.
RépondreSupprimerWet fabric clears the water.
RépondreSupprimerWish I had written that.
Beautiful. I hope you remembered your life vest.
RépondreSupprimerAmazing. I love the seeming effortlessness of your metaphors, and that you inject some bits of surrealism. You make me want to write.
RépondreSupprimerThanks, K_sra. Your Competitive Bastard says the nicest things. (Smack my paw- you know I'm in awe of your stuff, too. Where's the emoticon that makes this look as harmless as it is? ;-)
RépondreSupprimerThanks, Bloggles. I am brave (and scary.) Boo!
John, had the same thought about your fallen dome, so there. (Was that yours or Ice's?)
World, thank you. Unfortunately, I did not remember my life vest. In fact I wouldn't have recognized a life vest back then if it had bitten me on the nose. That's why the first cut is the DEEPEST. Good times.
Chellee, thanks for the compliments. The "makes me want to write" one is my fave. And, yes, I had way too much fun with the layers on this one. (Although, I don't mind telling you that Leviathan and his ilk specifically seem quite un-surreal to me for at least a split second whenever I am out there in the water. However, when it comes to panic, I am the boss of me.) Anway, thanks, everybody, for reading it.
That doesn't make me want to write. It makes me think maybe I should not even try to compete!
RépondreSupprimerO'Lydia, I drown you in my protests. (And thank you for the compliment.) (Oh, and if you're not gonna wear that gold outfit again, can I have it?)
RépondreSupprimerDon't you mean "amazon"dotcom wink wink, get it get it.
RépondreSupprimerthat was one freakin fantastic piece of work there. made me feel like an asshole! asshole!
RépondreSupprimerI too have enjoyed your entire story to date. There is a charm woven in the pain that you feel, that makes the rant so very, very real. Words crafted from a soul that posesses ageless beauty (and not having been raised in the south). I hope that if is repression that I hear, it has found the strength to bloom and flower. Your gifts and your spirit, are meant to soar.
RépondreSupprimerChez Whitey, I must thank you for the cool compliment as well. (Awww, shucks!)
RépondreSupprimerFidaroon, I am a sport. Say no more, say no more.
Like an asshole, hey? Isn't that what "the beast with breasts" is supposed to make you feel? (Oops! Sorry about the potshot, L.A. I'm sure you've encountered some real stinkers. Better luck on that going forward, huh?) Anyhoo, thanks. You stop writing and I will kick your shins. (So friendly, this one.)
sername, thank you very sincerely for saying such sweet things. And now, I am longing to diagram your sentences. (Oh, the fun to be had!) You, like me, are not entirely tied down by the rules. (P.S. My soul uses a very expensive moisturizer.)