Moonwaves

I roll over and realize I forgot to shut the blinds before falling asleep. The moonlight is shining bright into my room hugging the curves of my blankets, making them appear like waves frozen in time. Uncanny shadows are cast throughout the room from the futile stacks of accoutrement strewn about. I’m surprised to see that color seems absent and it looks like I’m inside the scene of a film noir. My mind jumps to my time in New Jersey and the frequent nightly visits I took to the shore. I used them as a reprieve from my swarming mind. I would sit, watch, let the tide take all the heaviness in my heart and carry it off to sea forever. As if doing so would grant me night-vision, I would squint to make out the features of the water better. I often imagined my pain slowly making its way to the horizon and falling off the edge into the vacuum of the cosmos. My favorite nights were when the moon was waxing, illuminating just enough attributes for understanding of the space. The break of the waves would briefly come into view when hitting the sweet spot of moonlight and then disappear. The ocean moved through my senses. First with sight, then with sound, when the waves were acquainted with sand in a humbling crash. Touch and taste came last as I would feel the mist settle lightly on the vellus hairs of my face followed by the discreet taste of salt. The cycle would continue, the tide little by little chipping away at the marble encasing my heart, making beautiful curves to reveal a Bernini masterpiece. But the ocean understood that I needed more; I needed purity, to be cleansed, baptized. So, she would slowly wash it all away, beautiful sculpture and all, to display a raw, but real beating heart. Only then, when I was left with a relieved fervor, would I thank her with a small bow and walk back home. There, I would crawl into bed and fall into a deep, healing sleep.