getaway

come on baby

give me your pain

let me take it away

because I’m the best getaway

haven’t you heard?

I’m the vacation you seek

so I give it all to me

leave it here, on the curve between

the beginning of my legs and the end of my hips

and when you leave

(because they always do)

you’ll remember me with sweetness

and dream in coming back to make me your home

but by then

it’ll already be too late

I’ll be taking someone else’s worries away

It’s what I do.

It’s how it’s been.

haven’t you heard?

I’m the best getaway.

 

 

 

Sweet

I picked up the book I’ve been reading with a set plan to devour it today. I half sat, half laid on the sofa, as my body reclined against the glass door that stood between me and the ocean. I read a few pages, as the cool ocean breeze caressed the right half of my body. I haven’t known what cold means for weeks, but suddenly it felt cool enough to justify the use of a light blanket. I got up and found the closest thing to a blanket in my parents’ aparment: a beach sarong. I wrapped the printed sarong around my body like a shawl and resumed reading, thinking of how ridiculous I probably looked and caring not at all.

I read until the natural light coming through the door was all but gone. I remember only getting up from that couch once, to prepare a dish of toast with light mozarella cheese accompanied by green olives stuffed with pimento peppers and a glass of refrigerated red wine. I half despise and half love my parents for refrigerating their wine. The daughter in me loves them, finds it even endearing, especially since my mother takes it one step further by adding gassy water to her refrigerated wine. The wine lover in me, however, screams blasphemy!

No matter. I poured the cold wine in the fanciest crystal goblet I could find and took up my spot on the couch once more.

I read until I forgot who and where I was.

Sometimes life can be so sweet.

Continuum

The distinction between past, present, and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.

I find myself staring out into the endless ocean, looking right at the bright blue line that divides sea and sky. I remember the past year as parts that are so enjoined with the present that I confuse myself.

We’re told our whole lives not to dwell in the past. But if there is no distinction between past, present, and future, then to forget the past is to simply forget ourselves, forget who we are.

So when I sit lazily by the sea, I dive right into my memories- all the good ones I keep stored in a little treasure box in my brain. I pull them out as if trying on a new dress, turning them this way and that to appreciate their beauty. I let them teach me who I’ve been and who I’ll always be. Sometimes during this process, tears that weren’t spilled when they should’ve been come find their place on my cheeks.

It’s wonderful to be alone with my memories and the sea. It’s wonderful to see time as continuous, and past events as ones that were never, and will never, be kept solely in the past. They are here on these waves, on the hot sand, under the shade of the umbrella and over the pedestrian walkway. Your name is written with seashells on the shore, your face sculpted in the clouds, and your voice… a quiet whisper I hear in every crashing wave.