I was once taught that all life on Earth began in the ocean, and that, biologically, humans are seventy percent water. That means seventy percent of us is made of what used to be home.
I think of the ocean hidden inside me, tucked away in my cells, mixed with my sweat. I feel the tides in my pulse and the salt in my tears. I haven’t forgotten the ocean. I haven’t forgotten its depths.
continued in Bouquet of Fears
[one_half]
I’ve been cursed,
stricken with a malady.
I have his eyes.
A reflection that cackles at me
each time I have the misfortune of meeting the gaze of a mirror.
Endlessness that calls me back to him.
When I see myself,
I am consumed by the depths,
the memories attached to immovable orbs.
The infinite holes draw me in.
We shared this darkness,
until—
then it was just me.
The one left burning bright.
Doomed to repetition.
Bound to keep him close and swirling within me.
[/one_half]
[one_half_last]
[/one_half_last]
‘when it’s all over
we shall not see the light,
neither sky, nor bitter ocean
but the thin, pure moment
of creation’
