sjsprWriting

My foot had left the grass, and I jumped as high as I could. I landed right beside you on a small wooden boat that jerked uncomfortably; drowned in countless oceans and spat out again, heading somewhere south of the ends of time. You’d been out there for a couple of millennia and the salt had cascaded your body into a cocoon, a shell to shimmer in the sun’s rays, and glisten in the moonlight. The sail was ragged and colorless, bleached in mist and sun-kiss. And yet, the wind prevailed and the sail skimmed the air like chapped lips quivering across the zeal of the ocean. You looked at me, placed your hand on my shoulder; rough as it scraped up and down my bare skin-

a push

-and just like that, I had sunk to the bottom of your ocean where monotony and peace grew between the grass. I’d wait there for a while, until the shore could beckon me again: to lead a simpler life, to return- that’s what you desired for me, but sitting under oceans to watch your boat echo ripples through the world above appeared to be the only way I could live. One day, you would touch me, and, for once, your hand would not cut me, and I would not ebb away.

It’s what I’ve been dreaming of.