By the Bay of Bengal.
A long lost joy clings to me as I watch the Bay of Bengal extend far past the horizon. I hear masochists block oxygen to increase the pleasure. That in death the body reacts exactly like it would when it reaches climax. The sea playfully thrusts itself against me. If the sea carried me away and I screamed as I died and if the people on the shore called out to me, the sea would take away all the drama and quieten everything. I would never give in, I think.
I'd fight like hell, to hide that I've given up (Bright Eyes)
I tell the sea that I just told it a secret but it ignores me, continues reaching out to my knees and going back, a lilt in it's movement. I look around and there's an ugly couple, a lone walker on a mobile phone. The sea does the same to them. I wonder if they are thinking about the cruel death a sea could execute. I walk further in, still happy. I think of all those things that I haven't in months and have missed. I think of his bacon-y smell as he shyly let me curve into his side, my toes embracing his rather large feet. I think of how she spooned me and kissed away the hangover. I think of the rum tickling my insides as the sun lit the beach full of pretty people a few years ago. I remember crying because I was in love. I think of Radiohead and Pink Floyd, Tori Amos and Matchbox 20. I was already a dead woman reliving insignificant (or are they significant now that I know I saved them in my deep conscious) memories. I stand an hour smiling, cramped by the caresses.
I am so jealous of all those born next to the sea who have a better equation with it than me. I've always wanted to love the vastness of the sea. I've tried so hard. It makes me so happy but I can't be standing on it's shore all my life like a stranger. I want it to tell me all its secrets and pour me with sunshine, the way only a sea can. I want the silence it offers to be a joy, not a fear. There's something about death in the sea that scares me. There's something about death in the sea that excites me.
I'd fight like hell, to hide that I've given up (Bright Eyes)
I tell the sea that I just told it a secret but it ignores me, continues reaching out to my knees and going back, a lilt in it's movement. I look around and there's an ugly couple, a lone walker on a mobile phone. The sea does the same to them. I wonder if they are thinking about the cruel death a sea could execute. I walk further in, still happy. I think of all those things that I haven't in months and have missed. I think of his bacon-y smell as he shyly let me curve into his side, my toes embracing his rather large feet. I think of how she spooned me and kissed away the hangover. I think of the rum tickling my insides as the sun lit the beach full of pretty people a few years ago. I remember crying because I was in love. I think of Radiohead and Pink Floyd, Tori Amos and Matchbox 20. I was already a dead woman reliving insignificant (or are they significant now that I know I saved them in my deep conscious) memories. I stand an hour smiling, cramped by the caresses.
I am so jealous of all those born next to the sea who have a better equation with it than me. I've always wanted to love the vastness of the sea. I've tried so hard. It makes me so happy but I can't be standing on it's shore all my life like a stranger. I want it to tell me all its secrets and pour me with sunshine, the way only a sea can. I want the silence it offers to be a joy, not a fear. There's something about death in the sea that scares me. There's something about death in the sea that excites me.
posted by De.vile at 9:57 AM
1 Comments:
This reminds me of how I have always felt about the ocean. I always thought of my death- drowning in it. And it gave me a odd sense of peace.
And about the comment- I was about to say it feels strange.
I wont give in. I wont take it either. Am going to fight it. 'I will stop the motor of the world.' (you might understand it if you have read Atlast Shrugged)
And I can't do THAT. (laughs). He said to me once that the only romantic song I can think of dedicating to you is 'Pigs on the wings'. And thats what he did. Who knows what mood he was in.
And yes my blog is about him, but thats coz it was because of him- his blog rather, that I started it. After the day I read it and came to know of its existence 5 years down the line when he no more wrote. I think I felt betrayed. I still do sometimes.
My insecurities have deepened. I was never enough. Maybe I will never be.
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