Sometimes love is like floating under water: deep, all-encompassing and safe from the choppy surface of the sea.
In 1991, I walked back into my house, closed the windows, drew the shades and lived in the dark.
In 2015, I chanced to release the shades and walk back out into the Sun. My being now pale. And for the first time in 25 years, I said to the Sun, “I love you. I love your warmth and your beauty.”
In the evening I dreamed, unrestfully, full of love and angst, and of all the windows of the house opening past their hinges. It hurt. My heart exploded, in a good way.
It feels like an ocean of love flooding back into a once-ancient seabed, piercing the daily life of a life-time.
Twenty-five years is too long removed from the Sun and the water. From the fields and gardens that never were. From the toil and tenderness that…
As I jumped head-first into the onslaught of rushing waves, I floated and smiled and dreamed of starting over. As I sank, relaxed below the waves, a warm quiet surrounded me. I could feel my heart explode, in a good way. And the whole sea felt like home.
I suddenly realized I was too far below the surface to get back up in time to breathe again. I will die down here, in the heart of your waters. Drown for the dream of wanting to live with the Sun and the sea.
As much as I love – and have loved – the sea, I cannot breathe below your waves, under the limitless deeps.
With all my might I swam back to the surface, catching a little water in my lungs before breaking the surface. Choking and breathing I climbed out of the warmth of long, lost love on to the shore of my normal life.
Back into the house. But this time I leave the windows open so the Sun can peer through. But never again will I dream of the Sun on my face and the depths of the waves.
It has been too long to stand directly in the Sun and sink below the waves. Instead, I will hold the pieces of my exploded heart, in a good way, in the shadows cast by the Sun.
Poem #1 for Carrie Beth Wick – Mar 26, 2015