He sat for a long time at the edge of the water. There was a table in front of him and a chair underneath him and another chair across from him. There was coffee in a fancy white coffee set in front of him and he was aware that it was getting cold, so he was drinking it himself because he was starting to see that she wasn't going to come. What was worse is that he hoped she would come. And what was worse than that was that he forgot to invite her.
Meanwhile, the dead come singing, just long enough to introduce ourselves in the foam on the wave, and when we see things like this, it is always more embarrassing than heartbreaking, really, because we do know some things about moving time and space, but it's up to you to make plans, and you don't know how to make plans that will work.
At the bottom of the sea, meanwhile, he is talking to her and she is talking to him, and they are doing all the things they like to do with each other, but on the edges of the sea it just feels like they are tapping on walls at each other to let each other know secrets in morse code. But the code is not the same when it translates from the depths to the surface, and it gets interference, and comes out in numbers, and that's why lovers are so often stuck in each other's company arguing about what these numbers might actually mean. And they argue about times and dates and numbers of other lovers, codes written in numbers on phones and the number of times they are looking at other people while they are talking, and it is all a boring mess.
Under the sea, however, he is looking at the walls of fire in her eyes, the things that tell the stories of what happened between that last moment and this one, and there are cemeteries and there are dark rooms with neon lights and music, and there is the color behind her eyes when she is alone in her room and thinking about him. She's learning to speak in other languages, and is trying to play him her music with his eyes. This makes the birds that live in the back of his throat wake up and sing, and the sounds are words but they don't mean half as much as the drum of the tongue when he sings the words, because the drum in the tongue can only be understood when he plays on her. So there is always a lot to talk about between them. And he is wondering how to tell her about the wild horses that live in his veins, and how they have been sleeping, or riding without him, and when she is gone he feels like a wild horse on an empty beach, and he has been there so long that he can't remember being upset, only missing her.
Children of the sea should meet by the sea, or at the very least think about each other when it is raining. Rain is more related to mermaids than he ever understood, he wants to tell her, but it's a ridiculous thing to say under the sea, where everything is obvious. He wants to tell her how he heard her, when she was thinking about him when it was raining, how he always heard her, and he would like to tell her that he thinks this means he always will, but it's too late in the year for promises, and at the start of new years the only thing that a lover needs is a blanket. He is singing something he heard, about how a woman doesn't need any better covering than a man, something from the sixteenth century, and he is singing about unpacking the complicated text because they are more complicated texts than what is in the cannons of the sixteenth century, they are a different kind of gunpowder altogether, and he is totally unaware that she is surrounded by sisters that are gorgeous monstrosities in between the things of the human race, and the things of the sea, and if she were not so enchanted herself she would realize how enchanting she is, at least to him, at least at this particular moment, when he is still raining, he is raining, because he is swimming in a love spell that never went anywhere, except here, under the sea, to hide from the storms up above that never did have anything to do with them.
Meanwhile, the dead come singing, just long enough to introduce ourselves in the foam on the wave, and when we see things like this, it is always more embarrassing than heartbreaking, really, because we do know some things about moving time and space, but it's up to you to make plans, and you don't know how to make plans that will work.
At the bottom of the sea, meanwhile, he is talking to her and she is talking to him, and they are doing all the things they like to do with each other, but on the edges of the sea it just feels like they are tapping on walls at each other to let each other know secrets in morse code. But the code is not the same when it translates from the depths to the surface, and it gets interference, and comes out in numbers, and that's why lovers are so often stuck in each other's company arguing about what these numbers might actually mean. And they argue about times and dates and numbers of other lovers, codes written in numbers on phones and the number of times they are looking at other people while they are talking, and it is all a boring mess.
Under the sea, however, he is looking at the walls of fire in her eyes, the things that tell the stories of what happened between that last moment and this one, and there are cemeteries and there are dark rooms with neon lights and music, and there is the color behind her eyes when she is alone in her room and thinking about him. She's learning to speak in other languages, and is trying to play him her music with his eyes. This makes the birds that live in the back of his throat wake up and sing, and the sounds are words but they don't mean half as much as the drum of the tongue when he sings the words, because the drum in the tongue can only be understood when he plays on her. So there is always a lot to talk about between them. And he is wondering how to tell her about the wild horses that live in his veins, and how they have been sleeping, or riding without him, and when she is gone he feels like a wild horse on an empty beach, and he has been there so long that he can't remember being upset, only missing her.
Children of the sea should meet by the sea, or at the very least think about each other when it is raining. Rain is more related to mermaids than he ever understood, he wants to tell her, but it's a ridiculous thing to say under the sea, where everything is obvious. He wants to tell her how he heard her, when she was thinking about him when it was raining, how he always heard her, and he would like to tell her that he thinks this means he always will, but it's too late in the year for promises, and at the start of new years the only thing that a lover needs is a blanket. He is singing something he heard, about how a woman doesn't need any better covering than a man, something from the sixteenth century, and he is singing about unpacking the complicated text because they are more complicated texts than what is in the cannons of the sixteenth century, they are a different kind of gunpowder altogether, and he is totally unaware that she is surrounded by sisters that are gorgeous monstrosities in between the things of the human race, and the things of the sea, and if she were not so enchanted herself she would realize how enchanting she is, at least to him, at least at this particular moment, when he is still raining, he is raining, because he is swimming in a love spell that never went anywhere, except here, under the sea, to hide from the storms up above that never did have anything to do with them.
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