Freewrite 24-02-08

As I pull my knees closer to my chin, the waves continue their peaceful lapping against the rocks. I watch as a small boat appears on the horizon, reminding me of a poem I haven’t read in years. Slowly it comes nearer and my eyes understand its every nuance. The blood painted, salty wood keeps the waves at bay, while little matchstick men busy themselves about her body. As she slips around behind a verdant knoll, I do not cease my watching.1

I watch as the sky darkens, casting about a sea of twinkling lights cut short by the harsh irregularity of the rocks. They that were my friends, a source of quiet comfort to me during the day have become menacing in the dark. Yet I can’t help but watch as their crests, white as the wings of a million doves, crash against the rocks. The sea rises slowly and begins to play with my toes and I find myself once more pulling my knees close.2

Here, ever vigilant, I have found my solace. Away from city lights I have found a place where nothing chooses to judge me. To the waves I am like any other obstruction, impenetrable to all but the cold and damp. I suddenly find myself abruptly aware that I haven’t worn adequate covering for a night by the sea and I feel regretful that I must soon leave here.3

I look back toward my life, now an ominous mouth of glistening teeth in the distance, waiting to chew me up into the grand social pulp of the depressed. I want to curl up against the wind, against life and against the trepidation but I know I can’t. Casting one last, longing glance at my peaceful, perfect microcosm I stand, ready to face actuality once more.