Moon

It was dark.

It was wet.

The bed, 30 degrees Celsius outside. My sweaty inner thights, as his hands slided on them.

I was light.

3 vodka tonics and a couple of colourful cocktails named exotically had been my lunch and dinner.

He was close, liying next to me. He was far, his eyes shut down.

I wish he had not noticed mine on him when suddenly awakening, proposing:

“Shall we walk down the beach?”

And that sounded like a necessity, I would have never replied something else but:

“Of course”

Proposing, proposal. Is that a wedding gazebo on the shore, surrounded by the rebellious ocean crushing on the rocks, the order of nature in the perfectly parallel waves folding under the moonlight reflection.

Could there be any more appropriate scenario than this?

But the wind was strong, enough to impede our thoughts from being expressed by vocals,

Damn wind!

Damn kisses!

Who said they can hold promises?

And it was so dark, my thoughts sucked deep down, I almost got blinded by the moon when he exclaimed:

“Look how bright it is!”

And I was confused, because I knew it was the sun to be bright and not the moon itself; because I believed I could not hear his voice among the wind, and I was afraid I had missed something else now.

So I paid a lot of attention when he declared again:

“Look how close it looks, you can totally see it is a rock!”

And I saw then the moon’s surface and I saw myself walking on it,

By myself,

With my thougts only,

As they seemed to be anywhere else

But there.

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Back in time

I went to the beach today. It was mild. I thought about taking off my jacket, but then I didn’t. It would have been too cold otherwise. Off season, the sky was dull enough to make the beach look appropriately empty. Some occasional, timid sunshine to make my face squint. I set my headphones to some music that sounds inappropriate anywhere else. I walked slowly. I had to, I’ve just undergone an operation. Some odd footprints on the foreshore. Could it be my native inhabitant of the desert island? My Monday? That’s the day today. But they are feet with a stick. Possibly wood. Possibly an old man. Funny how quickly this image took shape in my mind. An abandoned boat laying enthroned on the sand. Must have been at least 40 years old. I wish I could go back in time today. Or forward. As to tell my future children to not trust anyone. To not follow any advice. Not even, not especially, mine.

 

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