I fantasized about you again. Who are you? My past, a present I don’t know, a future that will never be? I have imaged you with the faces of my past, with the ones I let get away or the one’s that let me go. Why? What reason did we have that bear no weight now? Would we laugh about the disagreements, about how now we couldn’t care less and the feelings we had about the situation dictated how we felt about each other.
We were friends. I shared my dreams, my hopes, my regrets. You felt safe, and I loved to set my anchor down in your harbor. The waves that lapped against my bow reassured me of a love that could last for ever, the wind on my face howled with the sound of my isolation. I had put myself on this ocean, on a sea of loneliness looking for land. I have made the water my home, and to lose sight of it would be to lose sight of myself.
Yet I longed to run aground. To find myself suprised by the shallows and feel myself jolted onto a beach of your love where I would kiss the sandy beach in appreciation of the world that had birthed me. How many beaches will I set foot upon before I make one my home? Have I left beaches behind because I had my eyes set on the horizon, on a better atoll just out of reach?
Why do I deserve better? How did this lack in any way? I had everything I needed yet I left it behind in hopes the next place would have more.
Like Charles Strickland am I destined for a beach in a far off place, having gone blind and finally able to love? To Charles his art meant more to him than the comfort of his life, yet in the end when he finally just gave in and lived in harmony with the world around him he achieved what he had tried for his entire life. What did Maugn intend with this ending? Was this life available to Charles with his family yet he longed for change? Was fulfillment something you can achieve in any room, in any situation, yet the mind has set itself on the idea that a change of scenary is needed to complete their purpose? (The Moon and Sixpence)
Like a lightbulb that doesn’t work, can you shake me and hear the filament rattle around my psyce? Am I destined for the embrace of another on a far off date where people celebrate the commitment we’ve made in front of God? Will I be alone in the hospital room, with no next of kin to call to let them know it’s time?
That thought scares me the most. To have only the ceiling as comfort of the end. I think a lot about the four walls that will surround me on my dying day. How I want that room to be filled with love and laughter, and a celebration of life and the journey. I don’t believe in an afterlife at this moment, but the beauty is there is still a mystery. Maybe when I close my eyes for the final time, my voice inside my head will be free to join the community of souls in the next.
