The beams dazzle me, the raging wind makes my jacket twirl in all directions. I feel the air seeping in at an insane speed. A few cold drops come to settle on my ardent face.
The waves break in a millimeter rhythm. Everything seems blurry around me, yet I have my glasses on hand, but it is easier for me to stay in this sad and sooty landscape. To remain in the dark, in the rough.
Furtive shadows pass here and there. I can now hear the enthusiastic cries of the children having fun in the water. I have a stomach ache, my head is spinning, but I keep pulling on my cigar as if it was my last. I like to get used to this idea. Things can stop suddenly.
At the age of thirty, one secretly hopes that one will be able to lead a balanced life, that the plans that one had drawn with a raised hand will eventually come to fruition. Disappointment invades us at this minute when we hear that it was simply a dangerous utopia, the exacerbated desire of a being who looks like us.
We imagine that we will always be surrounded by the same friends, those we really love, then time and distance erase everything, little by little, like these enormous waves crashing in a continuous murmur.
We miss the important moments, those that matter and we understand bitterly that the absence may have lasted too long. So yes, sometimes we will talk to each other, as if by obligation, but the days burn out and yesterday's allies scatter like a heap of inert ash.
They look unreachable and we have no choice but to watch them move away like shapeless shadows. That's life is not it? This is what people are hammering at. You shouldn't take it that way, yes, you just have to accept it and let it flow. It seems so easy.
After all, nothing is ever black or white! I, the mixed race, should, at least understand it!
Lying on the wet sand, my skull firmly anchored on my guitar, I gaze carefully at the dark sky, waiting for a solution to this chaos. Maybe there is none. Life would be nothing else than standing proudly on our legs until we reach the point of no return, hoping that it will arrive as late as possible. Or not.
For my part, I never understood why the human being seeks at all costs to live, even in the worst situations, he clings. The self-preservation instinct drives him to continue leading his shitty little existence, in the uncertain expectation that all this mess will eventually get better. That may be the key of the problem. Hope.
I am now alone on this sad beach. My stomach is twisted, I want to throw up my guts, to let go of everything. I pull one last puff and think about that ex who told me that after our relationship, she had sworn to choose someone simpler, more logical, more rational. Not a being who is always devoured by his dreams, who creates his own obstacles and takes pleasure in wallowing miserably.
Not somebody who seems to have it all, but who is chronically sad. Not a person who keeps his reserves even in moments of pure happiness or who consistently thinks of all the women he has disappointed when they are no longer part of his life.
A simple guy, a reliable dude. A strong male, not a fragile being who can only see it clearly in writing, unable to face the real discussions, the ones that matter.
Today I separate again. She no longer knows, neither do I. She does not understand me, cannot bear this weight. I don't think I'm sad, I feel relieved that this masquerade is finally over. We have not been in love for a while, but we continued to live together, out of habit, out of lack of courage. Dead souls patiently waiting on a platform for an imaginary train to decide to pass.
She no longer dares to speak to me, I avoid her gaze. She gets up, I watch her go. She advances with a confident step, she does not turn around, I do not hold her back. I breathe and breathe deeply. This sham is finally over. The photos will remain. All those frozen moments of happiness that ultimately hid so much. Shake them a little, scrutinize them carefully and you will see that they are blurred like the sensation I have currently.
A huge wave surprises me and covers my pants. I feel the sand sticking to my calves. I take a few steps back and contemplate the dark sky with fascination. The glow fades more and more but I throw my glasses away and lie down again.
I should go home, that's right, but I can't.
Not yet. I continue to scrutinize these waves, dreaming of having the courage to join them. I close my eyes, as if that is the only answer. The fairest. The least cowardly.
Life always looks dull when you have the tragic feeling that no one is waiting for you.
