Monday, August 20, 2007
Petit fiction - Spindrift
Rock offers no comfort to my heart and the hours have neither sorted my head, nor cushioned my ass.
The surf reaches to grasp at the land, echoing my rolling thoughts. The turn of the tide, the call of the moon, where ebb and flow of the constant sea lick futilely at a lollipop that may never diminish. Like the shoreline granite, I hold my own and wait patiently for the answers.
Surfers have names for waves like these. Caught between time and colour, these insubstantial wisps leave salt on my hair and lips, the softest of elemental kisses that only hint at the love beneath. I search for the grey green of your eyes and find it being dragged back out to sea, even the gulls call your name and laugh at my need. You are out there, somewhere, like Lyonesse, hidden between worlds of 'should' and 'must', where 'want' and 'need' cannot gain the substance they so require.
We are hopeless souls, you and me. Bound to others by promises of undying love that somehow managed to sicken and fade, leaving us high and dry on our lonely islands. Wave after wave of relentless life have deepened and widened the sea between, that neither sailor, or selkie can cross.
The horizon gives no hint to your presence and yet I feel your skin on mine as if you were sharing my rock. The sting of our enemy is welcome on my face, reminding me that some things are worth waiting for and I know you would be here if you could. A mere ocean cannot drown a knowledge that was made elsewhere.
You are my love, but for now, like spindrift, I will continue to find a way to you on the wind.