I don't feel anything much any more.
Except a strange sense of deja vu and the slow steady ache of dangerous nostalgia.
I feel empty.
Hollowed out, scooped up and absent.
Is this depression?
Again?
I don't feel depressed.
I'm not miserable, or happy or anything really.
I'm a mask.
Suitable for every occasion.
I cannot remember the last time I cried.
Or the last time I laughed with genuine heart.
All I can remember is you.
In the first year we made promises about what spring and summer would bring.
'We will go to the beach'
'I LOVE the beach!'
But I only felt the sand between my toes once or twice a year.
I came from the sea.
It wasn't enough.
As a child I would walk knee deep in the ocean.
Watching the sun slip down beneath the horizon.
I would beg to go back from whence I came.
I felt my beginning and end were tied in with the salt water.
On a crowded beach, I would feel alone.
I would sing to the ocean and to myself.
It was captivating and terrifying
And I would cry if I were dragged out too deep
And panic when my feet did not reach the sand.
Thrusting
Splashing
Disbelief
Shortness of breath
And relief
When my feet hit solid ground.
And that's how I felt in the middle of the ocean with you.
Adrift, a thousand miles from home.
I clung to you - the only island in sight.
Unaware that you were digesting yourself.
And me.
You - a solitary atoll.
Me - the albatross.
Harbinger of doom.
And as the ocean ebbs and flows with the moon
Our love bit into the sand - like the lapping tide.
But it wasn't constant.
You were not an island at all.
Just a mirage.
In vast
Blue
Nothing.
And I am that nothing.
