sing to me of the ocean
of the silver gale
and the breaking waves
sing of the salt air
the gull high on invisible wind
sing of the falling sand
The day you left a piece broke off of my heart. It pierced my lung and for an infinite moment, I remained breathless, my lungs flailing in fear. I coughed it up, blood coating its smooth surface. I rinsed it under the salty water, my fingers stinging with the cold. When I held it up to the light it glittered at me, the sunlight reflecting off the blues and greens swirling together, like your eyes. I wrapped my frozen fingers around the stone and closed my eyes, my hollow lung struggling to catch up with its twin. Do you have a similar piece? If we fit them together, would they make a whole?
If I could capture that time in a noun, twist it and mold it into a just personification, I would make it into a girl with silver-ringed fingers and delicate blonde ringlets and stripped scarves. She was the essence of my summer in every way, in every murmur. The sun in her hair was the song I tried to write, sitting naked at my piano and playing until I thought my fingers would fall off.
Oed' und leer das Meer.