I miss the sea so much that I might have actually become one.
The shore of my hips sways under waves of heat,while the sandcastle I see as spine slowly crumbles under the hands of imaginary winds.
I can always taste sand in my mouth,crunching between my teeth and scratching behind my lips.
Shake me a little too much and you'll find rattling shells instead of soles,even strings of emerald and crimson hanging from bleached ribs.
I never settle: one step forward,one step backwards.
Always churning,always reaching for something I can never quite reach.
My head is brewing a storm,but my limbs are numb and almost like jelly.
I'm a sea and my body is overflowing.
People are like clouds,in the end.
Sometimes they hold together,showing an array of different,but recognizable shapes,while sometimes they just fall apart.
Clumps of clouds may be found on the cerulean sheet of the sky at any given time,though there are moments when your eyes are graced solely by a blank page.
Some clouds are creamy,some angry sapphirine,some even pierced by the sunset or sunrise with shades fit for candy cane and tangerines- no matter the nuance,every cloud has a different shade,a wild elusiveness,a surreal existence.And I find that only fair and beautiful.
People are like clouds to me because I'd rather soar than sink when my time has come...
I'm writing through my tears because my heart doesn't know how to react otherwise.
I want to believe this is attainable and real,a glimmer of a fallen Eden in the middle of endless darkness.
This is a human bond which cannot be encompassed into words,a connection beyond love and lust,the closest thing to what some might consider "divine bliss".
I desire to be consumed and rebuilt,to rise and to fall,to find myself not in a mirror,but in a mold of which I am a perfect half.
I want to meet the soul for which I could both die and live a million times and beyond.
I need this to violently blossom before my very eyes.
I strive to robe an ideal with flesh and conscience and to make it mine.