I remember when crying was the result of any and everything. Elation, rage, hope and hopelessness. Now I am an empty well. Is that what happens? I heard you harden as you age, dry up, lose the sensibilities of youth. I can’t cry anymore. Where has my water gone?Heavy eyes on my face begging for sleep and calm, too tired to cry.
Sea, salt to sanitize
How many of my sisters have swam across merky waters and emerged clean and stronger than ever? Ocho Rios, Dunn’s River Falls, Black River. The sea, salted to sanitize. The salt reminicent of a dirty martini, brimy and distracting. My heart skewered side an olive. I dive into my personal sea and you tell me your head is filled with thoughts of him. From the position his hands when he told you—those same hands on the body of another—yours shaking at the thought. You cry into your peach bellini, you are the ocean in a storm. I sing love to you but it bounces off your skin. I want to cry with you, my soul sister, I’m sorry. My tears run dry as I sip my martini. Instead, I ask the waiter for another.
My emotions come in waves. I am the tide at sunset, a ripple of colours – sky blue, splashed with salmon and tangerine. Sometimes I am grey and pale yellow, soft sea foam clinging to rushing water. My flesh tender and sore, my eyes dry. When did I become so porrous? Full and filled to the brim, no water left to cry.
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