My last three communications prompted a response. It was different to the early months. This time there wasn’t so much of me—I gave you the space. I saw in every instance the blooming, pulsing truth. The truth that holds back the waters, but keeps me alive.
I didn’t expect to still be in love, after all this time. It was held tight as a mutual, slow-burn of a joyful surprise. The light fades in and out, as the lunar whims of unfamiliar tides, and we dance in the moonlight so the night is something that never dies.
The imprint on each others soul echoes in the face of our superficial smiles, and we hang on each others words. I’ll stare again at the Christmas tree, hoping for a bauble to reflect those hopeful, wandering eyes. I’ve surrendered in full, burning like the crackling fire inside.
I’ve forever been on the verge of being who I am, but as each time I take a step on the path laid out for me, the coastline edges further back, leaving me staring out to the sea. In a perpetual estrangement from the waves roaring, thrashing at the purpose made for me.
It only takes a simple push, from an impulse of delicate hands to plunge into the surf unseen, her encouraging touch avoiding the jagged peril of the unforgiving end. We were meant to swim together, but the courage was found in me taking the leap. We were found when we sunk to the deep.
I saw in the sharded, reflections of the sea in your eyes, that you knew I’d reintroduce a world beneath our feet, while you stared with shimmering hope at the sky. The clouds framed your head, as the blue melted with the horizon line, and we could dive or soar, forever, or just a while.