The salted air elates a feeling of real real.
And by real real, I mean the realist real there is. 

Child like intuition and loss in present ecstasy
Underlying a layered and angsted mind.

I loved a psychopath as a best friend
But finally 
His confusion clawed at my chakras with convoluted and displaced passion 
But on Protection Island 
I feel
Protected.

Whether the next sunrise meets me through the dingy drapes of a budget hostel, awash in a strange and urban melancholy wrapped warmly on all sides
Or on a windy beach with the blue flow of sparkled wash and distant cloud capped peaks and Dover-beacon ferries which remind me of novelty globes and my father
The buzz of early morning travel as a child

I will be fine.

To lighten my load I hid The Dhamapada and St. Francis of Assisi in the hopes and faith that they would be left in peace blanketed in underbrush 
Being peacefully caressed by ocean wind and the beautifully dilapidated wood-house 
The protectors warm grin of welcome.

I want to feel okay again
And I feel like okay is finally waking up from her peaceful slumber 
Returning from vacation to remind and comfort my unassured and pummeled mind
Like a lover returning from a followed dream

A long, warm embrace which says it all
No words for I love you
Just a feeling and oneness as old as the world itself.