The sea does not harm me; she waves, oblivious, as if she is unaware of her existence,

she has more to do, more things that don’t rely on me or you.

She serves as a reminder, creating a doleful shift, sending a dull needle through my skin. It’s not intentional, but it leaves a sting, a thought, a chill.

The way she ebbs to the shore,

so unbothered, so busy and unconcerned.

Her sting follows me; her waves glide down my spine at the end of every laugh, at the beginning of every smile.

When her waves flow through me, I see myself zooming out,

past the skies,

over the clouds,

above the earth and the crowds.

My laugh becomes a whisper, one that settles into the abyss.

I only exist below the heavy mist.

But she still sits,

never still,

just inhaling the distant frills, covering the cracks that allow the landfill.

Unaware of the windmills, the clock on the wall, the people’s voices become echoes that fade as the rain falls.

She doesn’t know. When I see her, I grieve the memories I am yet to know; I miss the present and remember I am only below.