Sunday, November 29, 2009


The water kept asking me questions I had been avoiding for years.


Oh, hello, you blue waves, you orange sun. You play together for a little bit everyday. Mom told me on cloudy days you was just sleepin' in a bit. But the waves never rest, right? (I'm familiar with the visual and emotional sensation of a wave but less familiar with its science as I am originally from an inland area) But as I struggled to photograph the sun's late winter rising it let me know it was well rested with a thick, melting layer of the deepest gold. God damn it, people do create colors, but, this is what their model is.

Every wave has its own soul, I swear. Like life, we don't exactly know when it starts, the wave, that is, but we do know it begins in a vast, beautiful space. That wave runs a course, some big, some small, and will find its way to a shoreline most likely created by man. This makes sense. Who dies of natural causes anymore?

As if I was giving the sun too much credit, someone's life crashed against the human obstruction I sat next to. The remnants are a fish-shaped milk stain. The weird thing is that all the water drips back where it came from. That which made the stain will reinvent itself but I'll never know the difference. I know where waves end but where do they begin?

So I watched a wave crash. I also heard it but did not feel nor smell it. The crispy bubbles that were left behind quickly found comfort and shelter back in the ocean once they slid down the slight angle of cement they had found themselves on.

I think about how fast my heart could stop beating when it's cloudy outside and I'm a pessimist for the day. But I also think about its success in beating all day and night. However, I've never thought about the waves stopping. How could I? I could never question the moon.

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