Bitten by the Sea

Don’t ask me why I am here because I honestly don’t know. I have never planned to be here.

If I really did, I won’t be wearing these sand-trapping sandals right into the beach. It’s absurd. Nothing is making sense. I’m standing on the beach, alone, with nothing more than a pair of shorts on my body and a pair of sandals on my feet.

In this cold, I’d love to believe that somewhere along this beach lies my property – warm clothes, a wallet, some money to get back home. I’d love to believe that I know where exactly I am, and I’d love to believe that I’m not alone here.

I’d also love to believe to know whether what I’m staring at right now is a fucking sunrise or a sunset.

You can’t just bring me here and leave me alone, can you? That’s irresponsible, you know? You were never there for me, you bitch. The least you could do is to let me have my clothes.

I let the rising tide lap at my toes, partly to wash off the gritty sand between my toes, and partly to just feel something. Hot or cold, I don’t care. The water’s bitingly cold today. Does that mean that it’s dawn, or is it that I’m in a place where the water’s always cold? I don’t know. You wouldn’t say.

Something about the biting cold draws me in. I make small steps into the water, allowing the icy numbness to slosh around my sandals, below my feet. My big feet. Everything looks big when there’s little else but vast areas of sand and sea around it.

It feels strangely comforting. Did you want that? Was it what you had in mind? Did you want me to walk into the water and just disappear?

There’s no reason for me to stop walking, but there’s no reason for me to walk on either.

I let the cold water lap at my ankles.

I let the cold water tickle the back of my knees.

I let the cold water flood my navel.

I let the cold water tickle my chest, bringing on spasms of chills.

Should I walk on or stop? I look to you for a sign, a gesture, anything at all. But you ignore me.

Maybe I’d stop, maybe not. Perhaps I’d walk all the way into the sea and never stop? Perhaps I’d eventually find myself walking away from, and not into the sea?

I don’t know. It’s not as if you’d decide for me anyway.