all the love // H.S au (university series)

salt water

HARRY

you paint the ocean on your eyelids so when there are tears streaming down your face

it doesn't feel like you're crying and

you feel like a monster because nobody likes the taste of salt water

but what you're forgetting is that salt helps heal wounds
H.S

I reread and reread the poem I was writing for my creative writing class. This was super last minute and the only thing I could think of was the ocean and how much I truly missed it. Especially the violent European wind that whips hair in your face. The cool atmosphere there tastes original; nothing like breathing the recycled air here in the city. Breathing at the cliffs in Ireland is truly like breathing the freshest sky on earth.

I remember driving there, to the Ireland cliffs on a whim with one of my good mates Zayn. We were drunk and had the bright idea of a quick trip to Ireland, you know, for shits and giggles. Once we sobered up, a quick nap, and a large mug of coffee a few hours later we still thought Ireland was a great idea. Soon enough we stole away in my car and drove all the way to the cliffs. It was probably one of my most fond memories by far.

I remember just standing there, at the edge of the world. Looking out to the endless void of sea. Thinking of all the history behind the waves, of all the words I could use to describe them;  of all the words that have been used to describe them.

I could barely tell the sky from the shoreline, and I could see myself reflected in no time; I saw myself the violent waves that crushed themselves against the cliffs. I saw myself repeatedly coming back for more and more the way the waves retracted and pushed against the cliffs. I remember trying hard to break the hypnotic trance of waves kissing the rocks to glance over at Zayn. I'm sure he was making mental notes of the shades of blues and grays. His paints were surely awaiting to be mixed back home. His warm eyes never stopped scanning across the cold sea.

I compared the way both our minds worked; I on one hand tried to convey this beauty with nothing but poetry; with words struck together in a rhythmic pattern that just keeps and keeps. Zayn, on the other hand, probably was making sense of this view with careful brush strokes, messy color patterns and crackled paint pots.

I inhaled the cool salty air as if it were a drag from a cigarette, scoring that breath in the lining of my lungs, knowing not one phrase of all the admired poets in the world could even begin to describe the feeling that rested in my chest.

It felt that way when I looked at Isabelle sometimes.

I felt that way when I saw her beautiful smile light up the dimly lit coffee house as she spotted me, laid in a couch near the back. I waved for her to come over and she smiled even more as she looked down and walked back here. I got up from my seat to greet her with extended arms, but they dropped as I remembered my agreement with myself. Space, she asked for space for us to grow. I didn't know if that meant we couldn't hug anymore or not, but friends greet each other with hugs, right? I hug my mates all the time. Shit, I hug just about anybody, it's just the person I am. Plus, I really can't resist wrapping my arms around her tiny frame. They could probably reach around her twice, she's that small. And it adds up with me being quite a large person as well. She melted into my embrace and murmured a quiet "Hello, Harry" into my chest. Her sweet voice lured my lips to the top of her head, and I left a barely there kiss. The last one I'd be giving her for a long, long time.

"Hello, Isabelle." I said, pulling away and smiling at the light blush on her face due to my small act. She pulled away and sat in the seat next to mine, between me and my mate Cole.