Take Me To The Beach

Take me to the beach.

"But you're not a beach person," you say.

I sigh.

"Ever since I've known you,

You've told me that you don't like beach holidays."

I sigh louder.

Listen, I say.

You've got to understand that

There's actually a difference in

"being a beach person" and "liking the beach".

There have been many times

Where the sorrow in my heart is so heavy

A tiresome burden to carry

That I just want to stop driving

Park the car

At the shoreline, and take in the sight

Of the enormous body of water

The sun in the horizon

The calmness and safety of the waves,

Coming,

Going.

I notice your silence when I say this,

But I go on.

The thing is,

I have a fear.

No, two fears.

One - I'm afraid of the vastness that is the sea,

The ocean, the water.

Mostly because I can't swim.

Plus, I've watched and read and heard

One too many tsunami stories.

I shudder as I share this with you.

So that's that.

But that is something my head can wrap around

If I remind myself of the unknown

And how that can't kill me yet.

But then there's the other fear...

The fear of what's expected

When you say "beach person"

My mind thinks of...

Bikinis, skimpiness, sexiness

Alcohol, parties, late nights

"FUN".

And I don't do that kind of fun.

I don't do that kind of LOUD.

It's for you, but not for me.

That association and branding of being a "beach holiday person"

Is not what I can find peace in.

I don't know if I can ever.

Call it lack of confidence, lack of experience.

Close-mindedness, even.

But it is what it is.

I don't find peace in that.

I can't find peace in loud places.

I'm sorry, I finally say.

"Okay," you say.

And we continue our drive home in silence.

Never going to the beach.