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2002-10-03 || 11:36 a.m. || perhaps it'll be what makes the sand glow at night. || the way water moves out of the way when a body is pushed in. poseidon's hair like seaweed. bubbles. the weight of rusty chains and rocks. the bleeding of color and visible light. the way eyelids look when you know they'll never open again. my worst fear. her father died when he was fifty-eight and my father is fifty-eight and to think of it i think of water swallowing him up. the ocean will be unbearable after that. the sound of waves crashing in conch shells will have his name tied to it with sea grass and the shallow parts of tide pools will be the exact blue of his eyes and i might collect some seawater and keep it in a vial in my pocket but i worry i won't be able to be around the ocean at all after that, after the ocean swallows him up, not ever again. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |