Our life, a beach, in a tea kettle

It’s all a matter of the mind, time is irrelevant, moments are timeless. No matter that, because one year has taught me to jump into a lake of ice cold water, come out of it shivering and count the goose bumps on my skin.

                                   

I had a dream of us a year ago, when you were shy and I was violent. In the dream you looked just like you do today and I looked beautiful. A polka dotted dress and a bright pink umbrella and margaritas on the beach, a dog played in the sand near us and the sea looked edible and aquamarine. The sun was scorching down on us but we remained unblemished. We talked about global warming and saving the polar bears, and of Tolkien at length and I played with the sand with my feet. You told me I am an exhibitionist and I confessed you crack silly jokes, and we laughed. We spent a day and a half by the beach in bright daylight and we never looked at our watches, it was poetry.

It has been a year, but I still see that dream sometimes and it seems more believable than it did the first time I saw it. You’re less shy now, and I’m more violent, but it’s still poetry, we still hold hands, I still play with the sand, we still talk at length and you still laugh at your own jokes. Our life is a beach together and we keep pouring ourselves out of a kettle, a small little kettle, but it is pretty.

“You know I’m such a fool for you, you’ve got me wrapped around your fingers”