I miss the ocean the way it licks the land, reaching for a place on dry land. I used to thrive most by the sea but have not seen it in so long. Months. I’ve contemplated wandering the coney island beach with boots on, mingling on the boardwalk and looking afar over the sand to the deep coral blue ocean in the distance. Perhaps I will make a small journey soon, ride the train out and out till I get there, and write in a marble notebook serenely taking it in. I am not happy with this Fall. It leaves everything to be desired. The weather has been unseasonably cold, and dark.
A tentative lover and I strolled through central park last week on an ugly day. Leafs scattered along the grass, couples walking hand in hand, strange men causing a stir. The clouds awaited to burst open when we lay in bed at night. I laughed myself awkwardly to sleep, a slave to my fears. Once you allow a tiny crack to surface the land you lived in, and inhabited changes. The alarms tick differently, your heart sways to a another beat. Only I am not sure how one recovers from the past, even when the past is presented to you as the now.