The tide was low one day and I memorized how many naked footprints I left behind as I walked out into the water. There was nobody except for gawking seagulls, pulling apart a clam. It reminded me of humanity, ripping apart the competition.

My body is now half submerged in the water. I almost forgot that clothes wrapped around me. I guess it had been a long day, a long year, how many lives do cats burn through? I stared forward and contemplated enough to realize I was fucked. People had left me behind and ex-lovers created families without me.

It’s dead silent, except for the large freighter slugging through the water, the rumbling motor many fathoms below the sea, the large propellers churning blue into white, churning effervescent bubbles towards the surface. This is a cycle I suppose. Life moves slower than the particles that form the objects we comprehend.

Should I just try and kneel down into the water and let it consume me whole; would it pull me into some exotic current on its way to Japan? Would I be a world traveler then? A fake success story, the one a family member could tell at some function to pass boredom?

I was just getting used to my routine, then it felt like my spine turned into a taut guitar string, that vibrated and buzzed with electric anxiety. It’s a song that heavy metal rockers try to mimic, with their faux anger and spittle-flying rants through a Microphone. How funny we as ants, I mean humans are!

Fuck it. My toes wedge themselves into the sand and I push off. The water is way too cold to survive. But, I guess I can say that I finished something now. But, I forgot to write a letter, or a note, how funny notes can be, sticking to refrigerators to remind cute domestic mothers that this needs to be done before cheeky metrosexual husband comes home. How trite, like a sitcom that consumers love to relax to, as they temporarily reprieve a long working day for working dollar.

My body is no longer felt, it’s like finally letting go of stress, like the moment when you, as a five year old, decide to let go of the pressure of your bladder into your pants. That’s when you realize that your need for relief overrides your need for respect, and fuck it, you pee your pants.

I look up to a fluffy white cloud, as I’m doing the Breaststroke. It’s comical. It feels like I’m a millions miles away from the last memory I held of you, that smile you flash always won me over, especially when I was naked, steamy loved hungover of youth, yeah, youth is where it’s felt, life meant something then.

Copyright 2012. Erik Christian