Coming close to the water, walking, and feeling the cold on rocky shores. The wind blows, and each step which seems to bring me closer to my destination, stretches a path that unravels treasures yet to be discovered. I look at the rocks, descend, deep down my heart. I see the white and the grey, I see the rocks and the dead algae, the shells and the colours the sun casts, the spinning kites.
They remind me that some of it can be elevated and be floating in the air; free from the walk, away from the rocks. Nothing separates what my sight captures, for everything to be part of the same canvas. One step ahead, two steps forward, and ten backwards.
So far is the arrival, so far that I do not see it anymore. What was I looking for in the first place?
Gazing at some old stories, works of arts thousands spoke a great deal of. Entertainment for the soul, yet nothing really tangible. I trust and I follow, but as always, descending.
To the singers I met, to the wanderers, and to the poetic souls asking for the water to bring relief, to grab, come, appear, and be gone.
Am I here too early? Or, too late maybe?
Not walking fast enough, losing myself in deep reveries full of spumes.
In the descent, such stillness calms me. To keep breathing, and counting the silent nights, my eternal seconds for the second time. In the descent, I cannot hear the water, and I remember in silence again.
I slipped, bruised my heel perhaps. Nothing that prevents me from walking. Pain is my illusion, the ray of glory which, in the course of the darkness that succeeded, left a tenfold of disillusions.
Hungry, no food for the soul, no light, no gold. I remembered, I knew once where the destination was waiting for me. But in my amnesia, pain became secondary, the maze with no wings, no ally; at best, some rocky shores.
Wooden path laid by big logs, big enough to carry me, but not enough to lift me. Strong enough to lead me, and leave me on the path.
I see my onus, the attempt to calm the pain on an already-bruised heel, a little bit more each step. A sparkle of fresh water that lands on the skin, as a gift that reliefs the pain, alas not enough to relief all the pain. I wouldn’t dare asking for more, not on such rocky shores.
The sun fades, leaves its place to dark clouds, a tone of familiarity, the images where more than one story was told. Slow descent, quietness that disintegrates what I was sure of. Yet, when asked, I could only offer silence as an answer. I cannot see, for the glimmers of light to captivate my soul. For I have tasted the fruit that would forever quench my desire. Memories long gone, time fading all the joy, each singular moment that hold the key to better days, better words and better worlds.
In my descent, I did find a recess, free from the wind, hard enough to stop the wind, soft enough to be my bed.
I laid down, in an attempt to fall asleep, to feel as I slept, in my descent. For the last rays of sun to have burnt my wings, I cannot fly to such heights again.
Poets and words left, last wanderers gone. A thunder cracks open the sky, pierces the water, for the waves to dance and the wind to blow. Too far away, gone, I cannot reach my destination, should it have been here.
Looking closely, I can only contemplate the work of time, some pain and some vanity. Eternal sun that will forever shine, despair in a thunder that leads on the sky.
As my hand touches my knees, the warmth tames the pain. Eyes closed, an ear close to the floor, I am now miles away from the shore…