Thoughts scatter

My night was dream-filled, yet I awoke with a strange lingering fear; what if my heart is a cannibal? What if it has layers and layers of tiny bones, the many victims of my inability to let go, or rather, the ghosts of all of those that have tried before to reach my soul, but never made it in.

How do I stop it from happening again? Shall I string my life with seashells and wear them resignedly as memory?

To answer a question, yes, I do dance alone and I eat chocolate ice-cream s l o w l y, from a long silver spoon, while sitting upon the edge of the sea. The moonlight dances against the reflection, a tango of shimmering lights, fighting with one another for attention. I dip my long, bare legs into the liquid, my nightgown falling into a puddle of disarray between my knees. The coolness of the water helps me to not feel the hiss of the arid night time air, my toes are brightly painted and blurred.

The portion of leg that is under water seems so distanced from the rest of me. I stare at it trying to make sense of the muted shapes. The colored toenails are electric blue eyes staring back at me. I have only two choices pull out or slide in. So, I gently place the bowl of melting ice cream down and slip into the water.

The chill causes an immediate shiver and my white linen nightdress swirls around my head like a halo of water lilies. I dive back under the water shedding my nightgown, breaking free of sound, weight and g-r-a-v-i-t-y.

Beneath the glittering skin of the wetness, I am me; it is the return to freedom, the water womb from whence we all came. I slice through the cool blueness and resurface farther out. My nightdress still floating, closing and opening silently like the mouth of a clam.

I can see the ripples of where I once was, I can touch where I am, I can go back or I can go under, there are steps that lead out, but none that go deeper. This is the whole of the ocean trying to fit into a puddle.

The world can not contain me, I can not even contain myself. I think I am overflowing.

So, send me an echo, send me intrigue, because everything tastes like poetry, where suddenly where ever I look, there are fireflies dancing around my wet body.

I am content, I think. At least in this one moment within the place I always long to be.