Suspension

There is that moment of suspension between two waves when I get anxious about the sea. What if it decides to retreat into itself, running away from me, back into the groins of the earth? My feet will get dry, so dry that the skin will turn into bark, and ants will start crawling up my body. And as the sound of waves is muted, there will be silence, so deep that the seagulls’ squawks will not pierce through it anymore. My eyes will succumb to the vastness of what the bottom of the sea has accumulated over the eons; infinite histories will be finally revealed to be inspected by the sun.

There is that moment of suspension between two waves when I feel like a prayer would help. Yet, it is at that moment when I remain speechless, as I realize that there are no words that I can use to convince the sea to resume its stretch back to my feet. What is the maximum distance that I can accept before I collapse into the next nightmare?

The sea releases the next wave, and the words return, in their ludic flow, entrancing me with their rhythm.

photo via Unsplash