Longing

It pulls me in.

Vast, dark, rolling,


It tempts me to step into its waters.

•

It is cold.

The waves lap against my legs,

And crash on the shore of dark, wet sand.

•

It pulls me out,

Toward the horizon, toward nothing,

And tiny stones are pelted against my body.

•


I should be scared.

I can’t hear people on the shore anymore,

Only the waves rolling toward me and sloshing, crashing.

•



But the smell—

Of salt and brine and damp and old—

Fills me with nostalgia for something I’ve never known.

•

I’m pulled under,

Just for a moment, but I gasp,

And saltwater fills my mouth and nose.

•

I come up, spluttering.

Shocked and cold and wet.

The taste of salt has flooded my senses.

•

It is sharp.

Aggressive and painful,

And tears escape my eyes to meet the sea.

•

I know it’s time to go.

Back to the shore, to safety.

I am so small, and the ocean is so large.

•

But still, I stay.

Floating, caught by the sea.

I stare out at the horizon, and long to go farther.