oh my god, you have no idea how much this means to me (or maybe you do?) and it amazes me that a piece of my internal life put into words can touch another person this way. thank you, for letting me know. you’re giving me strength to keep writing even when it’s hard.
or maybe i am the water. and it is in my nature to attach and detach, to yearn and be and be and be, as wide as i am deep, as lonesome as i am loved by many, feared by just as much.
my slippery fingers can’t hold though they can drown with too much ease, and even those who’ve learned to swim in me grow pale and cold and leave — to return another time, maybe, if i am lucky.
some write me letters, some people’s dreams i can fill up, but don’t i ever see them. don’t they ever touch.
in our imagination, the world as it is ending looks a lot like the world did again and again over the course of its millennia, when it was rumbling and burning, storming and spitting, turning and turning in ellipses around the sun.
none of these times were its end, though several were its beginning.
so i dare say the look of thunder on your face and the shaking in my bones is more of a sign that i’m going to live, than die.
The sea foam brought you in;
from where, I do not know.
It cracked and shuddered when you
left it, but you were still, and you were cold.
Aphrodite danced from your lips and found herself a home,
but you were still and you stood tight
Against wind and all the tides and
I did not offer you a hand.
Too wide were your eyes, too easy your feet and
I must have thought, I mustn’t try to grasp you
Or you would disperse into salty air and curse me
from the sea beds, every night,
until they’d come to take me, too.