I hide behind these moss-eaten walls. My fort protects me, hemming me in tightly with nothing but the sound of waves crashing stubbornly against gigantic boulders. Although I miss the welcoming warmth of the sun in the air and on my skin, I have grown accustomed to this melancholic grayness. All day I sit and watch the sea; blue, black and a dirty brown beneath the surface. Curls of white form and break across the wide expanse, their frothing beauty disappearing all too quickly.
A strip of land juts out in a corner, lined with palm trees and a few upturned boats. I long to go there, lay on the sand with hopes of submersion, but I am not allowed. Solitude is bearable but I wish to float out into the ocean, be tossed about in those wanton waves, feel the scales of swimming fish graze my leg and seaweed tangle into wild bracelets.
I watch the clouds drift slowly, eating my view of the horizon. They parade their heaviness, pouring down drizzles which more than often crescendo into thrashing storms. The wind wraps its muscled- arms around me, shaking me, numbing me, moaning a thousand words into my ears. He has been my only companion for a while and knows me very well; how hot I like my tea, the wide spectrum of my lost gazes, why I’ve forgotten how to laugh from the pit of my stomach. We have come to love each other, our bond strengthened by our mutual despise towards the whimsical tufts in the sky that refuse to behave.
Often I have stood at the edge, staring at the wondrous expanse around me, feeling content enough to hurl myself into a trajectory and land into icy nothingness, wishing the cold to numb my desires for the ‘something better than this’ that will never come my way.
Mr.Wind pushes me back selfishly and I resolve to stay. Maybe another day. For now I’ll wait for my other loyal friend – the mist.