four living in a lovely lonely world

The boat was a piece of ramshackle paraphernalia, the sail nothing but a few tatters of cotton that were tied to the mast. They travelled by oar, the two girls taking turns to drive the wood into the salty water and pull the handle towards them, watching the water ripple and circle and feeling a deep satisfaction at the distance they had created between the docks of their city and themselves.

They had been doing this for a long time, the time spent on the water measured by the setting sun.

Their weariness was deep and it continued to burrow its way down through their brittle bones, gnawing through the bone to bathe in the bone marrow, until the girls felt as though their bones were breaking under the pressure, splintering one by one as they rowed.

But, it was worth it. They’d do it a million times over.

At long last, they couldn’t see their city—indeed, they could not see anything except sea and sky and the setting sun.

Parched and desperate to taste the freedom the sun had, lording over the universe with no one to ever tell it what to do, they cupped their hands and scooped up the water with the sun reflected upon it, and drank. They did not drink from the sea again, having tasted a little piece of freedom, and they were content to rest in their boat.

But the sun left and the moon rose to take its place, and they had to swim. They had tasted freedom, but they had not felt its caress upon their skin.

They swam for what felt like hours, inundating in the moonlight, showering each other with stars as they celebrated, but making sure they never swallowed the moonlight like they did the sun. And the night held them in its glacial embrace until they climbed back into their boat to sleep.

It came easily for them, their eyelids drifting shut under the rocking of the waves, but the ocean roared its displeasure, the sky joining its endless partner in a cacophony of howls and bellows and tears.

Their boat was torn apart and their bodies sunk beneath the waves. The sea soon stopped its rage, the sky halting as it noticed the sea was no longer angry.

The sea was calm, but as it looked around for its playmates, it whipped itself back into a frenzy. Its playmates were gone, and it missed them. They had only tasted and felt free for a couple of hours at most, but for them, it felt like a lifetime.

And they were grateful for the time they had.

And so, the sea mourned its loss but celebrated the time they had spent in his waters.

They would be just a pair of names on a gravestone in the cemetery. Their graves allotted to them would remain empty, their bodies lingering blue and bloated beneath the undulating waves.

But they had tasted freedom. It had taken them a long time, but they had drunk up the sun and swum in the moonlight.

And they had never felt any better.

The lights are magnetic,

when you leave—

if you leave

—you keep coming back to them.

You could be passing by the bridge,

and you look out the window of your car.

Just a casual glance,

but it happened.

And you are wrenching the wheel to the left,

not even bothering to indicate.

Because by the time you do,

the light might be covered by the approaching tunnel.

Cars beep, but you don’t hear them,

because you are already driving,

well above the speed limit,

heading towards the lights.

They are irresistible,

and you are glowing in the light.

-e.a.m.