She looked at the photograph, and she didn’t know what had hit her.
A nostalgia so sharp that it almost made her cry- so hard that she didn’t remember where the pain came from- only how it felt-
What is the word for when you look out at your life, and see only a chain of doors, grey slashes where tomorrow could have been?
What is the word for when you look out of your window- and your gaze is pulled into the blue embrace of an horizon, and there is saltwater- everywhere, in your eyes, around your feet, in your pores? And even though nothing about your life has been fixed- it feels like something has been altered?
What is the word for when someone is kind- but it’s not a person, it’s actually a moment, or an hour- or a few days, or perhaps- time itself?
The sea. She had never lived right next to it, but whenever she had been close to it- she had guilelessly loved it. The blue waves which rocked her were part-lullaby-part prayer- and when breathing became difficult, she allowed herself to follow them. Believed they inhaled and exhaled- took in and released everything that was inside her, yet beyond her.
She missed that feeling. Where you could look out of a window, and feel like you could keep looking out forever. The sea was all expansiveness, a home blue welcome, a tenderness that nobody could ever hope to word.
She tasted salt on her lips. She wiped her eyes.
Someday, love. I promise you.
Someday, before it’s too late.
Someday, after the tug of marriage, and the medals of work, and the maze of a life cracked open at middle age. I will return, and I will spend the rest of my time allowing myself to finish falling in love with you.