Mar 2014
I’d pick the Pacific any day.
Its crazy crashes and harsh cold splashes call my heart.
I’d pick the Pacific over your calm grain blowing in the wind.
Though there may be beauty in the simple, I want to feel the fight of the waves, through the rocks and shells, and feel my stomach ache in fear at the depths and strength of the water around me.
I’d rather drown than shrivel up. I’d rather go out fighting than meekly falling over.
I was silly to think I could be anyone else but the storm I am.
The manic shift of tides, the pull of forces beyond my control send me shooting back and forth pounding my fists in the sand, crashing into the rocks head first, beating myself up against things that seem impossible to change. I could pretend for a while that I was mild, but then you ran away in the harshest storm we’d seen in years.
I lost my bearings and let go of what I was holding onto. Watching your back slowly fade as I drifted waiting for you to turn around the water wells up in my eyes. Silly me. Silly me for thinking I could ever hold back.
I swam away, diving deeper, letting bubbles tickle my sides, feeling my brain float back up to the surface and up into the clouds, I knew it was time to come up for air. But what if I didn’t?
I’d just return to that place of calm waters, and stay stagnant and unchanged. I fought to find the surface. I fought back against every doubt, every fear, every insecurity, and found I was better in that salty mess.
The air above tasted fresh and clean. I felt every limb tingle. I felt every breath burn. I was alive.
The shore was distant and I wondered if you could see me. I wondered if you were looking. Maybe you’d see the grandeur you left behind. Maybe you’ll finally understand the cost of sitting back and only watching the waves. I can’t go back to that place of silence and of calm.
So go off into the fields. Go sit and lay on your back with your hand in someone elses. I’ll be beating against the shore until I find my answers. I’ll be there.
Its crazy crashes and harsh cold splashes call my heart.
I’d pick the Pacific over your calm grain blowing in the wind.
Though there may be beauty in the simple, I want to feel the fight of the waves, through the rocks and shells, and feel my stomach ache in fear at the depths and strength of the water around me.
I’d rather drown than shrivel up. I’d rather go out fighting than meekly falling over.
I was silly to think I could be anyone else but the storm I am.
The manic shift of tides, the pull of forces beyond my control send me shooting back and forth pounding my fists in the sand, crashing into the rocks head first, beating myself up against things that seem impossible to change. I could pretend for a while that I was mild, but then you ran away in the harshest storm we’d seen in years.
I lost my bearings and let go of what I was holding onto. Watching your back slowly fade as I drifted waiting for you to turn around the water wells up in my eyes. Silly me. Silly me for thinking I could ever hold back.
I swam away, diving deeper, letting bubbles tickle my sides, feeling my brain float back up to the surface and up into the clouds, I knew it was time to come up for air. But what if I didn’t?
I’d just return to that place of calm waters, and stay stagnant and unchanged. I fought to find the surface. I fought back against every doubt, every fear, every insecurity, and found I was better in that salty mess.
The air above tasted fresh and clean. I felt every limb tingle. I felt every breath burn. I was alive.
The shore was distant and I wondered if you could see me. I wondered if you were looking. Maybe you’d see the grandeur you left behind. Maybe you’ll finally understand the cost of sitting back and only watching the waves. I can’t go back to that place of silence and of calm.
So go off into the fields. Go sit and lay on your back with your hand in someone elses. I’ll be beating against the shore until I find my answers. I’ll be there.
