It falls upon a rock,
and breaks itself apart.
Is it another wave of the sea,
or is it my naïve heart?
I’ve always been drifting and this sea has been my home. It has contained me and never questioned me. It has loved me with my creases and with my folds. I’ve been all over the world and grew up right here. I’ve met many other waves, fallen upon many rocks, smoothed over a lot of sands, and I’ve bled when it rained. I was born here and I have lived here, and it’s all been in front of him. He has let me be. Sometimes conspicuously there, and sometimes intentionally not; he’s been watching everything I do. He knows all my secrets even though I haven’t told him. He knows. Even when he’s not around I’m under his influence. I know I’ll go back to him, I always do. His shining white face looks at me coolly, and I stand mesmerized. He has marks on his face that add to his demeanour an unabashed ruggedness and that makes him charming. The world looks at him, praises him; and that only makes me more proud. I stay quiet at times, right behind him, when he’s receiving all the attention and I proudly beam. He’s been my hero ever since I’ve known, and deep down I wish he’ll always be.
I belong to him, he lives to seduce me; but then, pushes me away. He listens to my stories patiently, and then he outwardly ridicules me. He’s with me on a cool night, but he’s away when I have to face a storm. He watches me smile, and then kisses me softly. And just when I wait to fall into his arms, he pushes me away. He stays when he wants to and leaves when he feels like it. It’s a pattern that I can almost predict. At times, I think, he hides behind the clouds and doesn’t listen to what I have to say. And I’m never sure that he’s even there. But I’m never insecure. He’ll come around I know, he always does. He’s gone for days on end and he never tells me where he’s been. Whenever I ask, I am offered silence on a silvery beam, but never an answer. His shine caresses me when he returns, and as soon as I’m ready to jump with joy, he holds me and throws me on the rocks. I fall and I break apart, and then he picks me up again. When he’s close, I’m ecstatic, I whirl, I dance, I play and I’m in rapture. But when he’s not around, I go on about my day in repose and longing, waiting to see him again.
He owns me, and disowns me.
He loves me, and he shuns me.
He treats me like a princess, and he treats me like a mistress.
He heals me, and he bruises me.
He waits on me, and he makes me wait.
He trusts me, and he questions me.
He makes me try, and he breaks my spirit.
He’s there, and he’s not.
The others ask me, what kind of love is this. I have no answer. But if you’ve seen us together on a dark blue night, you would know.
It has always been this way and it has always felt like love…