We pass each other unknowingly, floating timelessly. The ocean is icy on my side and lukewarm on yours. It is impossible to hear you, only because our ears are filled with the sound of water. It muffles what we refuse to accept--that we need to live and die over and over again. To be honest, recycling does take its toll. It'll never be the same. Sometimes I don't know if I am recreating wave after troubled wave or if it extends beyond me and I am just a ripple on the surface of an existing current. Let's remain here, carried by a train of thought, for there is no need for translation in this state of movement and stillness. (Although silence can mean many things.) Arms stretched out, the years rush by between us and I forget to age. I am stranded reveling in your youth. I give up all my shapes and any form of desire to be tangible. I have no need for it to be part of this moment or these little deaths. It will always be a 'yes.' And nothing is lost, for now I am water--yielding water, that continues to crash and survive the shore.
