Tiny Vessels
It's happening again, it's making me crazy: I'm craving the east coast. There's something about the wide ocean that haunts me in the evenings. It's the deep blue just before the sky fades to black, the blue that reminds me of the sea at night, the blue that the Gulf can never satisfy. Last summer I strode across the state into the arms of my blood-brother, and we drove to the beach at night to watch the full moon hanging low over the Atlantic. I've been thinking about it lately and I can't imagine living inland, in the mountains or on the plains, watching the sun set so far away from the sea; the sky deepening to the blue of marine light streaming through kelp forests, and the shadows of sea lions drifting by. I see them, sometimes, before the stars come out. That's when I start to ache.
Although I feel like this year can never end, I expect May will rush up before too long. And then I'll be here again, for the summer. I'm already daydreaming about it, as the weather edges towards warmer. I wonder where I'll live. I wonder what I'll write about. I wonder if I'll drive to St. Pete every day to do something interesting. Whatever happens, though, I won't regret sticking around. Once this year ends I'll be in the real world, and I have to take care of myself. But I've been very careful about making this decision, and if things head south I know I won't look around and realize that I've fucked up my life. I'm still charting a course, just a different one, and I'm ready for anything. Anything at all.
I'd like to see the west coast. I wonder what it looks like. I'd like to drive along that edge of America, watch its sunset, and see just how deep the blue gets before it's gone. Every day flashes like a spray of bluejays, a golden grown upon each one; like an eagle, seen against the sun.
Although I feel like this year can never end, I expect May will rush up before too long. And then I'll be here again, for the summer. I'm already daydreaming about it, as the weather edges towards warmer. I wonder where I'll live. I wonder what I'll write about. I wonder if I'll drive to St. Pete every day to do something interesting. Whatever happens, though, I won't regret sticking around. Once this year ends I'll be in the real world, and I have to take care of myself. But I've been very careful about making this decision, and if things head south I know I won't look around and realize that I've fucked up my life. I'm still charting a course, just a different one, and I'm ready for anything. Anything at all.
I'd like to see the west coast. I wonder what it looks like. I'd like to drive along that edge of America, watch its sunset, and see just how deep the blue gets before it's gone. Every day flashes like a spray of bluejays, a golden grown upon each one; like an eagle, seen against the sun.