prose-poemish thingy
Aug. 15th, 2007 09:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sereneFiclet I wrote for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
nanoljers, kinda depressing, but I like the
images, so I may keep them for something else.
I need to drive to the ocean. I need to move away from the stalled air and traffic and be near the coast, near salted air molecules that can strip and clear my pores, near the seaweed stench of low tide.
Instead, I am in this room with you, dissecting our lives together, placing the organs on the observation table, and wishing I were underwater, where I couldn't hear you and you couldn't see me, couldn't reach me, couldn't take away anything of mine.
When we met, we were feet away from our feet in sand, and we spend the summer on the beach. You charmed me. Told me when you applied my sunscreen, there would never be a streak. Took me home to cold watermelon in the refrigerator and seafoam-green nail polish. We were California girls, suffused with sun and warmth and the promise of long sea voyages.
Long years later, my shoulders draw in when you are near, and my impulse is to give it all to you so that this can be over. Let this be over. Take it. All of it. This table is too solid. The water in this glass is too pure and cold and hard. I need to be in the sunwarmed Pacific, away from you.
nanoljers, kinda depressing, but I like theimages, so I may keep them for something else.
I need to drive to the ocean. I need to move away from the stalled air and traffic and be near the coast, near salted air molecules that can strip and clear my pores, near the seaweed stench of low tide.
Instead, I am in this room with you, dissecting our lives together, placing the organs on the observation table, and wishing I were underwater, where I couldn't hear you and you couldn't see me, couldn't reach me, couldn't take away anything of mine.
When we met, we were feet away from our feet in sand, and we spend the summer on the beach. You charmed me. Told me when you applied my sunscreen, there would never be a streak. Took me home to cold watermelon in the refrigerator and seafoam-green nail polish. We were California girls, suffused with sun and warmth and the promise of long sea voyages.
Long years later, my shoulders draw in when you are near, and my impulse is to give it all to you so that this can be over. Let this be over. Take it. All of it. This table is too solid. The water in this glass is too pure and cold and hard. I need to be in the sunwarmed Pacific, away from you.