Sand
My fists are entrenched in the Gulf’s sand- Sifting through the Earth’s forgotten nuances. I’m hoping to find a bit of myself that I lost when you told me that I wasn’t enough; I laid there bedridden for months, wishing it had ended there. The broken bones, contusions, memories flashing- Steel meeting concrete. Glass shattering. Thinking that if anyone would be, you would be there. Life has an incredible, and unforgiving way of showing you how small you are. How much your existence really means to the rest of the world. That even if you love someone wholly, and completely. When your life begins to dim, they may not consider you enough to waste their flame, pulling you out of that darkness. I’m still trying to get the grit out of my teeth. All those years I burrowed my head and refused to look up. I’ve been afraid. Afraid that no one would be there. And if they were, they would leave as soon as I inevitably became a burden. The waves are crashing. Persistent. Changing the landscape of the beach. Pulling in the forgotten, casting out things that have traveled further than I can imagine. That cyclical energy should give a man like me hope. Calm. The realization that nothing lasts forever, and that’s okay. That’s Nature. I am made of the same matter I’m clinching in my palms, after all. No matter what happens. What I do. Eventually, I will return to this beach. And maybe instead of searching. Someone. Something. May be searching for me.
-James Kelley 2018
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