journal entry — Sunday, July 6th
6:55 AM
Open the windows and coax the salt air in; ask her nicely and she’ll cleanse your hanging clothes of their stifling cedarwood musk, and leave them with an air of the open ocean where she fills the inlet and kisses the shore with a loving, faithful tide. Try and trap the ocean’s breath inside and she’ll hold onto her next exhale, deprive herself to deprive you, and your stolen spoils from when she let you take her in, just that once, will coat your clothes as if in amber, enshrine your mistakes you prayed to forget as you ensnared the faithful ocean’s throat, wrapped your hands around her neck so only you could decide her fate, so only you would taste the sweet poison of her life in your hands.
Open the windows and coax the salt air in; ask her nicely and she’ll share her life with you. She isn’t lending the lap of her waves out of knowledge of their unchanging abundance — this partnership is eternal, and only will her vastness diminish each droplet’s value when you demand that she be all yours. She already is.
The Dilemma Of It All 