Perchance, To Sleep

Prose. Allure. Drugs. Cigarettes. I am all that is momentary. All of my writing is published on hubpages.

“Take me sailing. Somewhere far away from here.”
In Ensenada, we swim in coastal waters without the worry of routine storms. The coast admires you, and you let me watch you get dressed in your finest bathing suit before we submerge ourselves. This is the first unpolluted sea you have seen since you were younger (before the incendiary storms had become ritual and turned oceans black.) You swim for hours because you wonder why the ocean is warm and welcoming. It’s just something new to you.
English music is forbidden, but my radio does not care much for Big Brother. I am seated at the cutwater of the boat with my feet outstretched over the ocean. Hennessey and horchata. And I am taking shots that taste like chocolate cake. I’m pretending to read, but I am really just watching her swim. Nabokov can wait. 
She is so elegant to me. In various ways. I look at her and become disadvantaged, disabled. She catches me staring and she swims in my direction and offers her hand to me from below. Looks at me and I notice her eyes have adopted the color of the sea. An azure shade.  
“Swim with me,” says the beautiful siren.
And I do. I drop the book near the sail and throw myself in. She wraps herself around my waist, and I keep us afloat. She hides herself in my neck, panting from the exercise and shivering from the cold of the oceanic breeze. I hold and cradle her exhaustion. She almost falls asleep before looking up at me and asking
“Where does the ocean die from here?”
A couple of miles up north, the ocean dies. The hills become ash, shaped like epicondyle bones. And the ocean dies.
Ananda would take a book out there with her had she not the fear of getting it wet. Just to see where the ocean dies. I think she would die a little inside too. Five minutes pass. In open sea, she falls asleep in my arms. 
I carry her onto the boat from harbor side and wrap her in seven blankets. When she wakes, she’ll swim before we leave. I know she will.

1 year ago
  1. whitewallsandasphalt reblogged this from mattsjustaroundthecorner
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  6. shadow-writer reblogged this from bedlam408 and added:
    A rare reblog, because this is just exquisite.
  7. burningmuse reblogged this from bedlam408 and added:
    Lead Staff Note: A lovely, delicate piece.