And beneath my skin.

I have to remain hopeful. I have to know I will see the first day of summer outside of this place, reflecting from your ghost eyes to mine. As much as I know I will never be free again, I have to try for you. I can’t put it out of my head, I can’t put you out of my head. Because you are in my head, my heart, my blood and bones. And beneath my skin and tissue and matter, you are also in my energy, in the water of me. The energy that holds me together is half you. We are constantly moving, Helena, and I am constantly yours. My fascination for you keeps me together, even with the feeling of terror here, in this place. It’s all ebb with no flow, the sand is covered and eaten by the air, by receding dead water, bilge and brine and sewage. Dark, rotted blood and piranha teeth that devour the beach, and where the beach may finally stop, where the water loses power, is a solid steel black wall, with only large chunks of dead time to take it away. I reach to feel the light there, peeking through cracks made by you, unseen by the naked eye. Sunlight warming death, the end of sleepless want, of fear. You and I know these fears, Helena. They climb upon me where I live, and we destroy them breath by breath, knowing our time together will hold fast against this garbage, this piece of fleeting cosmic garbage.