Though it might make a certain sort of sense for me to be a person of earth, considering those I love and am loved by, the closest I come to it is being of stone. But primarily, I am water, and it is the stone that borders water; a face of rock rising around a forested pool is my mental image of myself.
And I long for the sea.
I don’t have the words to explain the longing that I feel when I’m faced with this particular view. I just want. To stay there, to sit and waste away to nothing in view of the glory of the sea, to be picked and dragged out and drowned, my body given to the creatures of beneath the waves and the sea birds, to be seized and rent asunder by the whales and sharks, to hit the waves and find a portal to place where I can remain there, always. I stand on the sand, with my feet bathed in biting, frigid water, and I forget everything. Nothing matters in view of this vastness, none of my petty, human concerns and attachments and worries and hopes and dreams . . .and I want to be swallowed hole, and digested, and forgotten as if I’d never been, my presence erased like…
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