She was worse than a cheater and she was worse than a thief. Something much worse. She was a killer. She had killed something, and she had killed it when its back was turned. There was a time when she had something to live for and something to fight for and something to work at, and that made her a better killer but as it always is, she massacred the very thing that sparked her fire.
It was not a loud massacre and no blood was shed but it was more brutal than someone getting what they longed for, and that is hard to achieve. She now knew why she was a guarded soul. She now knew why she never told the whole truth. She now understood why. That was always her burning question. Why physics would always win. Why she could not throw a jagged stone into the ocean and expect still water. Why the asphalt beneath her would always have grooves and missing pieces- because having the courage to do the right thing was always harder than turning something so good into a killer of its own.
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Monday, April 1, 2013
Whispers of an end
They were in his room, the bare walls and dark sheets oddly overwhelmed the sort of emptiness they were surrounded by. It was more than midway through the year and they had been at this sort of thing for awhile but the occasion of being together was rare and cherished. There wasn't much to look at but she had a knack for scanning rooms despite their seeming blankness. She never thought things could be empty, foolish perhaps, but she stuck to it. Every now and then when he was in the bathroom or kitchen she'd steal a long look across the bookshelves or night stand or how his shoes were placed on his floor- she would lie to herself and say the first thing she looked at with people was their eyes but she always looked at their hands and feet. There was this unspoken knowledge between her and her father that taught her that a pair of shoes could tell more stories than anything else, and stories made up the basis for who people are and who they had been. So that's where she started.
He had no clocks and usually she could tell the time of day within minutes of uncertainty, but today she was off. Without looking through the blinds she could only tell that the sun was nowhere to be found and the clouds were being territorial as if the royal sky was their battlefield. The room was not lit, as both preferred, but the change in light could be seen by those page-like shadows sweeping across the walls. The thing about rooms was that there was always a sense of wanting to be welcomed, as if a room could grant such a thing, but there was always that elephant of strangeness and uncomfortableness that served to be greater.
She liked him, well-liked him at that. Something about how he looked almost fluid and never changing pace whilst walking or the way his cheekbones would rise especially high during something amusing. Maybe it was those resplendent blue eyes that would change shade depending on his mood or the way he would offer a low hum only doing certain things. Foiling her parents, she had always been a listener and a researcher- that's how she learned people. Quiet discoveries were victories and a sick part of her got off from asking specific questions she already knew the answers to. There were certain parts of him that were more than predictable and then other parts of him that one could never guess. It was a multitude of things, and that was the only thing she was sure of.
He was lying beside her now, the comforter strewn across the bed and tangled between their legs- another preference. As for him, he liked this strange girl next to him. In fact, he liked her more than she liked him which was something neither of them knew. He liked the way her hair curled after showers and how she could only fall asleep if she was curled up in a ball on her right shoulder. He loved the way she tapped her fingers on the side of her leg when her mind was doing backflips or the rare times he would catch her dancing to silence. Though he liked the most particular things about her his favourite was the sillage of her perfume tracing her path as she walked away- it was as if she was leaving parts of herself for him to keep, the residue of her presence. There was something to this girl, and that was the only thing he was sure of.
She was giving him one of those vanquishing small smiles that could only ever fit her face. Before he met her back through their coil of sheets he had put on a song that they both knew quite well, there was something to this frenzy between them. So they lie together in the most serene of silences despite the music playing, tangled and warm and as one. If there was not something else occupying her mind she would count, this was one of those times. Out of the corner of her left eye she would watch his stomach slowly rise and fall, it reminded her of the way he walked. She got to the fall of his stomach on the seventy-second breath and he broke the somewhat silence:
'I think I know'- short and fast and low as usual
'You know a lot. What do you think you know?'- her, engaged
He let out a slight huff of a chuckle signifying that he knew that she already knew what he was going to say
'How you think it ends'- him in a congruent tone to his previous break
'Tell me, then'- the girl
'You first'- him, knowing she loved but did not like it when he twisted the game
'That's against the rules'- her, now propped up on an elbow eager per usual when he offered a piece of his mind to her
'Apart from the fact that you're right, I wish you weren't in a way.'- him, averting from disclosure
'Say it'- in the way she sometimes got demanding
He laughed and propped himself up as a mirror to her. He ran the fingers on his left hand through her hair and made his way past her ear and at the nape of her neck with his lips. Now holding a fistful of locks to his face he knew why there was something to this. Though he never kept her gaze for long, he took her chin so that her eyes pierced him back and through..
'It doesn't'
He was lying beside her now, the comforter strewn across the bed and tangled between their legs- another preference. As for him, he liked this strange girl next to him. In fact, he liked her more than she liked him which was something neither of them knew. He liked the way her hair curled after showers and how she could only fall asleep if she was curled up in a ball on her right shoulder. He loved the way she tapped her fingers on the side of her leg when her mind was doing backflips or the rare times he would catch her dancing to silence. Though he liked the most particular things about her his favourite was the sillage of her perfume tracing her path as she walked away- it was as if she was leaving parts of herself for him to keep, the residue of her presence. There was something to this girl, and that was the only thing he was sure of.
She was giving him one of those vanquishing small smiles that could only ever fit her face. Before he met her back through their coil of sheets he had put on a song that they both knew quite well, there was something to this frenzy between them. So they lie together in the most serene of silences despite the music playing, tangled and warm and as one. If there was not something else occupying her mind she would count, this was one of those times. Out of the corner of her left eye she would watch his stomach slowly rise and fall, it reminded her of the way he walked. She got to the fall of his stomach on the seventy-second breath and he broke the somewhat silence:
'I think I know'- short and fast and low as usual
'You know a lot. What do you think you know?'- her, engaged
He let out a slight huff of a chuckle signifying that he knew that she already knew what he was going to say
'How you think it ends'- him in a congruent tone to his previous break
'Tell me, then'- the girl
'You first'- him, knowing she loved but did not like it when he twisted the game
'That's against the rules'- her, now propped up on an elbow eager per usual when he offered a piece of his mind to her
'Apart from the fact that you're right, I wish you weren't in a way.'- him, averting from disclosure
'Say it'- in the way she sometimes got demanding
He laughed and propped himself up as a mirror to her. He ran the fingers on his left hand through her hair and made his way past her ear and at the nape of her neck with his lips. Now holding a fistful of locks to his face he knew why there was something to this. Though he never kept her gaze for long, he took her chin so that her eyes pierced him back and through..
'It doesn't'
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Second Hands
They had visited the old man Mr. Emit every Sunday afternoon for the last 4 months. Listening to his stories about his days with his brother in law on their first motor boat 'Stella', his wife Anne, or about the trouble he would stir up with his buddies 'in the good days'. It was their 17th Sunday with Mr. Emit and as he sat in the burgundy corduroy-like chair, he looked at the boy and girl with a different expression on his face. The man was nearing 94, he still had all of his hair, and wore slacks with a light button-up shirt every day.
'why don't you youngins take a seat?'
The boy and girl looked at each other in puzzle, as he had never greeted them in such a manner. Always obedient to him, they sat cross legged on the old carpet of his little Iowa home.
'i have something to tell you folks and all i can ask is that ya keep it to yourselves and not do a thing about it'
In unassured agreement, the couple nodded their heads for obligatory pleasing of Mr. Emit.
'you have been too good to me and you deserve to know this. i am leaving. i am leaving and i am leaving for good. there is nothing here for me anymore. my wife is gone 11 years, i am too old for the sea, and though i have enjoyed your weekly company- you can do me no good. i am sorry and i am leaving.'
Congruency in time and tone the two softly offered an, 'and where are you going?'
'away. i am going away. not to any specific place for i am not sure where this will lead me', Mr. Emit's voice started to veer off.
The two knew exactly where he was going and despite their nature, did not object.
'i know this isn't fair and i know this may seem fast but i have a favour to ask of you two. it's a rather long term favour that will be difficult'
The girl still staring in disbelief and the boy nodding with his usual sense of trying to please everyone.
'Stop keeping time' the leathered skin man pled.
the girl blurted, 'and how exactly do you expect us to do that?'
'just stop. stop looking at your wall clocks, stop waiting for something that may never come, just stop tracking the things that aren't meant to be watched'
the boy this time because the girl knew the answer, 'and how are we supposed to know the things that aren't supposed to 'be watched'?'
'you'll know because those are the things that you want', Mr. Emit replied with certainty.
'so if all the things we want aren't supposed to have a time on them, then when do we get them, when is the time for all these things?'
'you have it all wrong my boy, the time is always now- for now is all there ever is. you cannot wait, you musn't wait for those things that you want. those things will not always be here. you will not always be here'
*silence and steady gazes*
'what if we aren't ready for the things that we want?' the girl finally spoke again
'ah, my dear, if you wait until you are ready then you'll be waiting for the rest of your life'
Their goodbyes were long and their tears were many but the girl and boy took something away from Mr. Emit, or at least the girl did. As she sat at the bank of her stream she realized that the old man was talking about his heart. His heart had its time, his heart was now old, his heart had waited.
'why don't you youngins take a seat?'
The boy and girl looked at each other in puzzle, as he had never greeted them in such a manner. Always obedient to him, they sat cross legged on the old carpet of his little Iowa home.
'i have something to tell you folks and all i can ask is that ya keep it to yourselves and not do a thing about it'
In unassured agreement, the couple nodded their heads for obligatory pleasing of Mr. Emit.
'you have been too good to me and you deserve to know this. i am leaving. i am leaving and i am leaving for good. there is nothing here for me anymore. my wife is gone 11 years, i am too old for the sea, and though i have enjoyed your weekly company- you can do me no good. i am sorry and i am leaving.'
Congruency in time and tone the two softly offered an, 'and where are you going?'
'away. i am going away. not to any specific place for i am not sure where this will lead me', Mr. Emit's voice started to veer off.
The two knew exactly where he was going and despite their nature, did not object.
'i know this isn't fair and i know this may seem fast but i have a favour to ask of you two. it's a rather long term favour that will be difficult'
The girl still staring in disbelief and the boy nodding with his usual sense of trying to please everyone.
'Stop keeping time' the leathered skin man pled.
the girl blurted, 'and how exactly do you expect us to do that?'
'just stop. stop looking at your wall clocks, stop waiting for something that may never come, just stop tracking the things that aren't meant to be watched'
the boy this time because the girl knew the answer, 'and how are we supposed to know the things that aren't supposed to 'be watched'?'
'you'll know because those are the things that you want', Mr. Emit replied with certainty.
'so if all the things we want aren't supposed to have a time on them, then when do we get them, when is the time for all these things?'
'you have it all wrong my boy, the time is always now- for now is all there ever is. you cannot wait, you musn't wait for those things that you want. those things will not always be here. you will not always be here'
*silence and steady gazes*
'what if we aren't ready for the things that we want?' the girl finally spoke again
'ah, my dear, if you wait until you are ready then you'll be waiting for the rest of your life'
Their goodbyes were long and their tears were many but the girl and boy took something away from Mr. Emit, or at least the girl did. As she sat at the bank of her stream she realized that the old man was talking about his heart. His heart had its time, his heart was now old, his heart had waited.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Can something end if it never starts?
The song she had replayed nearly 50 times that night seemed to be slowing, less recognizable, and more painful with every measure. It was the way that he said, 'now if you don't mind, leave', it was those words that danced down her spine, it was a farewell to arms all over again. She was simply walking, periodically picking up a piece of gravel from the broken road and throwing it as far away as she could. Headphones in, a rarity- she always let the music echo, but not tonight. It wasn't supposed to end this way. He had given her a letter after he ran his fingers through her hair at their departure, his touch was different and that she was sure of.
She had the unopened envelope at hand, feeling that there was more than just paper inside. She already knew what it said, she already felt the pain that the silent words would bring, and she knew it was the last of these letters. These letters. These letters in cheap white envelopes, these letters inscribed on scraps of copy paper, these letters written in the kind of ink that bleeds through the sheets so that he could only write on the front. She would miss those obvious things about the letters- the frequency, the seductive loops of the s's and y's, the same but never monotonous terms of endearment. 'Darlin', he would call her.. She would miss that the most, it was always her favourite. This letter, this letter with the number 94 circled in the top right corner, this letter would be it.
Continuing her stroll in a 'mas despacio' manner as the Spanish would say, she ran the sides and tired edges of the envelope over her lips as if they were the tips of his fingers- the song seemingly fading despite its volume. It was nothing she did, it was without provocation, and unquestionably inevitable. That, she had known from the beginning. She always asked him why he continued to do things if he knew that they would hurt him in the end but now she knew why, words couldn't explain it but she knew. Nowhere to be, no clock constricting, no one to see- it was time. Time, she always thought was one of those sacred ambiguous kind of things because it is something that people always have and never have simultaneously. It was time for that ending he always asked about, time to encounter the final 'last' of what once was.
Perched upon some random ledge now, headphones out, staring at the envelope. She had always opened envelopes like her father did, tearing from the left side fold because of her inability to properly and wholly lift a sealed top flap. She had learned that tearing things apart in one shot was always much easier and durable than shredding them bit by bit anyways. As she tore this one she felt her heart tear with it, the kind of tearing that brings an everlasting scar with it. She could always tell you how many pages were stuffed inside an envelope by its weight, she knew there were 4 in this one. She tugged at the contents, pulling the weight of the foreign object still hidden within. The sound of paper against paper was one she enjoyed, one of those sweet sounds of life. Before reading those familiar scrawls, this time in the deepest of blue inks, she shuffled the sheets until she found what that object taped to the last paper was. That nervous, sad laughter she had no control of leaked out as her eyes watered up and she grasped it tightly. He knew how to make and break her.
She finally began, hand clasped over mouth and violent silent shakes as she read the words she had already guessed. Surprise was never the issue. The first two pages were his apologies, his reasons, and his pains in having to do such a thing. The third page was his favourite memories, the things he wished they had done, and his assurance that everything they did was true and without regret. Horrific yet beautiful pains swelling inside her, waves of bittersweet memories, bursts of a wide range of unstoppable emotions. The first three pages were the ones she could have guessed, the ones that would haunt her, and the ones that she would reread until she could recite in entirety but it was the fourth and final page that she had no words or exact feelings for. Written so orderly and seemingly yet unusually planned, the fourth page was a list of promises and lies that he had kept to himself all this time. Every lie he told her, every promise he wanted her to keep, every word he thought she deserved. It was so unsettling, so despicable, so full of beauty- the truth. It was all so surreal, every word.
She looked at the half inch leather bracelet resting in her palm and felt her favourite words of his pressed on its insides this time in Latin, 'sunt paratum te pro carmine, deliciae?' and 'omnia ieram.' There were no other words that needed to be said, no other feelings that possibly could have been exerted, no other way to end such a thing that had never really started. It was all lovely, every moment, and she couldn't take that away if she tried. Some things really could not be and if they tried to exist in whatever form they surely would not last, as much as she tried to fight the concept, he had been right about it. If she could put the whole experience into just a few words she would say that it was a candle with both ends burning. His world moved too fast and her's burned too bright, and the horror of it all was that they couldn't do a thing about it, they had to go mad and accept things for what they were as they watched the last page of their story turn.
She had the unopened envelope at hand, feeling that there was more than just paper inside. She already knew what it said, she already felt the pain that the silent words would bring, and she knew it was the last of these letters. These letters. These letters in cheap white envelopes, these letters inscribed on scraps of copy paper, these letters written in the kind of ink that bleeds through the sheets so that he could only write on the front. She would miss those obvious things about the letters- the frequency, the seductive loops of the s's and y's, the same but never monotonous terms of endearment. 'Darlin', he would call her.. She would miss that the most, it was always her favourite. This letter, this letter with the number 94 circled in the top right corner, this letter would be it.
Continuing her stroll in a 'mas despacio' manner as the Spanish would say, she ran the sides and tired edges of the envelope over her lips as if they were the tips of his fingers- the song seemingly fading despite its volume. It was nothing she did, it was without provocation, and unquestionably inevitable. That, she had known from the beginning. She always asked him why he continued to do things if he knew that they would hurt him in the end but now she knew why, words couldn't explain it but she knew. Nowhere to be, no clock constricting, no one to see- it was time. Time, she always thought was one of those sacred ambiguous kind of things because it is something that people always have and never have simultaneously. It was time for that ending he always asked about, time to encounter the final 'last' of what once was.
Perched upon some random ledge now, headphones out, staring at the envelope. She had always opened envelopes like her father did, tearing from the left side fold because of her inability to properly and wholly lift a sealed top flap. She had learned that tearing things apart in one shot was always much easier and durable than shredding them bit by bit anyways. As she tore this one she felt her heart tear with it, the kind of tearing that brings an everlasting scar with it. She could always tell you how many pages were stuffed inside an envelope by its weight, she knew there were 4 in this one. She tugged at the contents, pulling the weight of the foreign object still hidden within. The sound of paper against paper was one she enjoyed, one of those sweet sounds of life. Before reading those familiar scrawls, this time in the deepest of blue inks, she shuffled the sheets until she found what that object taped to the last paper was. That nervous, sad laughter she had no control of leaked out as her eyes watered up and she grasped it tightly. He knew how to make and break her.
She finally began, hand clasped over mouth and violent silent shakes as she read the words she had already guessed. Surprise was never the issue. The first two pages were his apologies, his reasons, and his pains in having to do such a thing. The third page was his favourite memories, the things he wished they had done, and his assurance that everything they did was true and without regret. Horrific yet beautiful pains swelling inside her, waves of bittersweet memories, bursts of a wide range of unstoppable emotions. The first three pages were the ones she could have guessed, the ones that would haunt her, and the ones that she would reread until she could recite in entirety but it was the fourth and final page that she had no words or exact feelings for. Written so orderly and seemingly yet unusually planned, the fourth page was a list of promises and lies that he had kept to himself all this time. Every lie he told her, every promise he wanted her to keep, every word he thought she deserved. It was so unsettling, so despicable, so full of beauty- the truth. It was all so surreal, every word.
She looked at the half inch leather bracelet resting in her palm and felt her favourite words of his pressed on its insides this time in Latin, 'sunt paratum te pro carmine, deliciae?' and 'omnia ieram.' There were no other words that needed to be said, no other feelings that possibly could have been exerted, no other way to end such a thing that had never really started. It was all lovely, every moment, and she couldn't take that away if she tried. Some things really could not be and if they tried to exist in whatever form they surely would not last, as much as she tried to fight the concept, he had been right about it. If she could put the whole experience into just a few words she would say that it was a candle with both ends burning. His world moved too fast and her's burned too bright, and the horror of it all was that they couldn't do a thing about it, they had to go mad and accept things for what they were as they watched the last page of their story turn.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Asphalt
Your life has been nothing but being laid down and run over
You used to be a soft and pure mixture and through time you've changed
You've one of the hardest surfaces with many grooves and cracks
You lie on your back and look up while all else moves on and passes through
You run all over the world, connecting and disconnecting at certain places
You detour often into the most wondrous of places
You come back and swear you won't detour again
You carry the most royal of weights
You're painted with lines that tell your story, where to go, and where you've been
You are asphalt
You used to be a soft and pure mixture and through time you've changed
You've one of the hardest surfaces with many grooves and cracks
You lie on your back and look up while all else moves on and passes through
You run all over the world, connecting and disconnecting at certain places
You detour often into the most wondrous of places
You come back and swear you won't detour again
You carry the most royal of weights
You're painted with lines that tell your story, where to go, and where you've been
You are asphalt
Friday, December 21, 2012
The hole
She peered over the stone cold ledge of the feldspar balcony as the newly birthed wind trained through the waves of her hair- debating whether or not to go before the rain hit. The sun was masked in a combination of thick fog and ominous grey nimbus clouds, it was just morning. Already in the sleek wetsuit with her mind made up, she trotted down the spiral staircase that led to the planked back porch of the two story house. Freshly waxed 6'4'' lime green edged in yellow and red Rusty quickly leashed to her left ankle and rightly placed horizontally under her arm as if it was an every day routine.
Unlocking the waist high latch of the outward swinging gate, she started towards the 'hole', nobody ever went there and it was just off the reef- she expected good sets. She watched the unrelenting drops burst from the masses in the horizon into the ever besieging sea with no intentions of being apopemptic nearing, but not denting her decision. The unceasing sea had been the only thing that could ever pull every ounce of her soul out in one shot. She always tried for morning rides, it was easier to ace and let free. The backwash from the previous waves welcomed her tan blank feet in a more seductive way than anything she'd ever known and she let the series of small swells carry her towards the storm. The bitterness would have been uncomfortable for others, the pangs of cold morning February water was a pain she only ever enjoyed.
She hadn't been able to see her feet from the time she starting paddling, an unpredictable and fair act of the ocean she had never preferred but dealt with. It wasn't her territory, she had always been a wanderer. Straddling the board, feet dangling over the sides despite the small conscious fear in the back of her mind. The wind was starting to rise and the small swells were becoming small chops that turned to white dissolving residue, no hope of any good waves anytime soon. She wasn't disappointed, she understood the way the sea worked, the way it did as it pleased. There wasn't one person in sight.
An overwhelming gust pushed through, springing up razor-like spritz of the short lived waves against her face. The sting, the pain, the flood of memories in every tingle. It tasted like June and felt like October. Distracted by the continuous sprays, she hadn't realized that the sky was letting loose. Surrounded by darkness, even in the morning. First instinct would normally be to paddle in, but not this time. Naturally well balanced, she lie with the back of her head on the board, staring straight up into the demon of the sky without a flicker of the eyelids, with her shoulders flat and legs overlapping each other as Zeus cried his violent tears.
The Rusty flipped as did she, the once small swells became enraged, dragging her out and to the bottom of the ocean floor where she could see the armies of aged sand race in circles around her- the salt had never burned her eyes. She let it take her, engulf her without a fight. There had been so much struggle with everything else and it was time to let go. She came out of the wetsuit and undid the leash, knowing they would float to the top. It was pleasant in that moment, life. Pleasant to watch the residue of earth dance before her, pleasant to feel the rush of water run through every part of her flesh, pleasant to taste the salt again. She had lost her saltiness and had no desire to resurface. She closed her eyes, grabbed a fistful of sand, and exhaled one last time. She let down hair for the first.
Unlocking the waist high latch of the outward swinging gate, she started towards the 'hole', nobody ever went there and it was just off the reef- she expected good sets. She watched the unrelenting drops burst from the masses in the horizon into the ever besieging sea with no intentions of being apopemptic nearing, but not denting her decision. The unceasing sea had been the only thing that could ever pull every ounce of her soul out in one shot. She always tried for morning rides, it was easier to ace and let free. The backwash from the previous waves welcomed her tan blank feet in a more seductive way than anything she'd ever known and she let the series of small swells carry her towards the storm. The bitterness would have been uncomfortable for others, the pangs of cold morning February water was a pain she only ever enjoyed.
She hadn't been able to see her feet from the time she starting paddling, an unpredictable and fair act of the ocean she had never preferred but dealt with. It wasn't her territory, she had always been a wanderer. Straddling the board, feet dangling over the sides despite the small conscious fear in the back of her mind. The wind was starting to rise and the small swells were becoming small chops that turned to white dissolving residue, no hope of any good waves anytime soon. She wasn't disappointed, she understood the way the sea worked, the way it did as it pleased. There wasn't one person in sight.
An overwhelming gust pushed through, springing up razor-like spritz of the short lived waves against her face. The sting, the pain, the flood of memories in every tingle. It tasted like June and felt like October. Distracted by the continuous sprays, she hadn't realized that the sky was letting loose. Surrounded by darkness, even in the morning. First instinct would normally be to paddle in, but not this time. Naturally well balanced, she lie with the back of her head on the board, staring straight up into the demon of the sky without a flicker of the eyelids, with her shoulders flat and legs overlapping each other as Zeus cried his violent tears.
The Rusty flipped as did she, the once small swells became enraged, dragging her out and to the bottom of the ocean floor where she could see the armies of aged sand race in circles around her- the salt had never burned her eyes. She let it take her, engulf her without a fight. There had been so much struggle with everything else and it was time to let go. She came out of the wetsuit and undid the leash, knowing they would float to the top. It was pleasant in that moment, life. Pleasant to watch the residue of earth dance before her, pleasant to feel the rush of water run through every part of her flesh, pleasant to taste the salt again. She had lost her saltiness and had no desire to resurface. She closed her eyes, grabbed a fistful of sand, and exhaled one last time. She let down hair for the first.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
The worst things in life come free to us
The fun had worn off, the laughs faded, the anger rising- she left before they would wake and it would be noticed. Dark hazy eyes, misled by what was thought to be a light. Morning, but hours before the sun would climb. Slammed gates, barefoot, purple sports bra and black shorts just above mid thigh storming towards the sea. Those two songs on replay in her mind, the past not lingering too far behind, grace drowning without an offer. Quiet mumbles and shuffling feet, innocent shells fiercely sent into the unknown, assailing waves crashing as she. Gravity as well as everything else keeping her down. She was having one of those uncontrollable fights with herself.. the raging, tear wrought thoughts clawing to break free and doing as they pleased. Composing herself for just a moment as the giddy group stumbled by. Sand clenched in both fists, teeth gritting, hair loosening, eyes bared. The eyes. Unsightly and startling but the true window to her soul. The pier about a mile off to the left, she started. A pen and paper could do no justice this time. Throwing the blame as far away as she could but knowing where it truly lie. Shells and rocks bruising her feet unnoted for the night, the slap of wet sand beneath her, the wind whistling without a care. At less than arms length from the salt worn stalks of wood carrying the weight of the pier, she stopped. Anger fading now, giving in. She surrendered to the pier, collapsing with her back against the third one from the shore, accepting that time would always be her opponent and it would always win. It could changed as it pleased from slow to fast, it could make one happy and make one sad, it could build bridges and burn them too, and it did everything with a sense of cruel pleasure.
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