Seaside Lullaby

The tide softly crashes against the surf. The sand darkens with every wave that gently caresses its surface. The once crumbly ground hardens, becoming as pliable as it is firm. I sit here, waiting for the moon to hide until it is time to rise up again, and think of you. You're probably asleep, your chest rising and falling with every breath. I wonder if you're alone. I wonder if you dream of me. The sound of the rolling waves is my lullaby. The steady rhythm in which they fold and unfold, leaving only a light veil of milky foam melting on the sand, temporarily quiets my unsteady soul, it gives me peace in my otherwise restless existence. I watch a couple undress and jump into the water. They seek refuge in its salty womb. Why could that not be us, I wonder? I can only dream of the magic that diving into the mystery of the ocean with you would be. I can only dream of how blessed I would feel knowing I had your arms to protect me, your breath to resuscitate me, your voice to guide me. I want to discover you. I want you to discover me. I needed you to learn the plains of my body, its hills, its hollows. I needed you to learn the beat of my heart, its percussion, its base.

The apex of the sun. I feel its warm kisses on my skin, leaving only covered areas ignored. From the top of Diamondhead, I can see everything. But I still can't see you. The light breeze dries my damp skin and ruffles my hair. I can feel my flower move, its petals waving frantically. I close my eyes and listen. I just don't know what it is I'm listening for. I want to hear the voice of God telling me to forget you. Or to wait for you, that you will come around once you're ready. Neruda was right, loving is so short and forgetting is so long.

Everything reminds me of you, of your smile, of your voice, of your dimples. A walk on the beach, a scrumptious meal, an airplane ride, diving off a rock, music, sand, Hawaiian shirts...

Why did I have so much faith in you? Why do I have so much hope for you? I read somewhere, I don't remember where, that love should be felt in the liver and not in the heart. The heart is a strong muscle, its tissue hard and thick. The liver though, is delicate. Each layer thin and easily torn. Each damage leaving a permanent scar that, if tried to fix, will only add another scar.I try to visualize my liver; it must not be a pretty sight. If my heart, a strong muscle that doesn't stop pumping life into me feels destroyed, my liver must be permanently incapacitated.

I watch the sunset from the balcony. The water is blue and calm. The brightness of it all - the golden setting sun, the turquoise water, the surfers, the white sailboat in the horizon - is in contrast to the darkness of my current state of mind, the emptiness of my world, of my soul.

I sit on the sand again, with the bright moon above me and the warm waves playing tag with my feet, and look into the horizon, getting lost in the darkness of the ocean's depth.