Imagine…
A day of doubt
A moment of fear
A time withheartache
Panic and tears
Imagine …
A day of hope
A moment of joy
A time with hope
Courage and laughter
Imagine…
A life of despair
A moment of terror
A time without tomorrow
Hollow and barren
Imagine…
A life of dancing
A moment of freedom
A time with passion
Purpose and dreams
What do you imagine…?
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Breathe
Keep walking I tell myself, over and over. I know if I keep putting one foot in front of the other I will be ok. The combined smells of salt and seaweed fill my nostrils; I have arrived, although recollection of my travel elude me, I am here. I breathe like a woman gasping for her last breath; I need to inhale until there is no room for anything other than the soothing scents of my ocean. I relax, I am safe. Closing my eyes, I thrust my face towards the darkening sky. Maybe it will rain; the air is heavy with moisture.
In the forefront of my mind’s eye I still see him, swaying, demanding his way in. The acrid smell of alcohol over my face has not dissipated, I shudder and breathe deeply. I still feel his power, I can taste his hostility. His strength, never diminished by his state of inebriation, I recall praying for him to pass out; thankful our children were not home.
He is an imposing figure, sober or otherwise, it has been said he possesses the physical strength of several men. I should know, seventeen years I called myself his wife - I should indeed, know.
I could not stop him entering the house anymore than I stopped myself berating him. I was beyond anger. The rhythmic thud of my heart gained momentum and aligned itself with the clock set high on the kitchen wall. I was afraid, livid. Inside this house, no longer a home, I was suffocating. His presence sapped the air, replacing it with angst and passion. Was he angry or hurt? I briefly wondered, then I realised, I simply did not care.
I wanted him to let me go, release me from his tightening grip. I felt the weight of him, his control unnatural. I prayed for escape.
The course mix of sand and seashells push into the cavities between my toes, the discomfort is welcome. I can no longer taste the saltiness in my mouth, for now, the tears are dry. I walk swiftly welcoming the breeze, like an old friend, I am embraced by the damp air surrounding me. I have no destination, I head for the horizon. Vigorously I pound the sand allowing the water to wash over my feet; it is a cleansing and refreshing ritual.
I wonder and try to recall how many times I have been here; walking to what seemed the ends of the earth. How many tears have I surrendered into the ocean’s swell?
As the sand bends with the mountain walls I enter the folds of the ocean, slowly embracing the icy swell as it laps my knees, my thighs. The splash soaks my underclothes, how welcoming, how soothing. Sliding into the depths of the tide, beads of sweat, trailing between my breasts and over my stomach wash away. At last I am submerged, I am surrounded and I can no longer hear anything other than the ocean’s symphony.
Momentarily I come out for air, with each moment the cyclic ebb and flow ease my heavy heart. One more time the encroaching darkness wraps its infinite arms around me and I am safe.
In the forefront of my mind’s eye I still see him, swaying, demanding his way in. The acrid smell of alcohol over my face has not dissipated, I shudder and breathe deeply. I still feel his power, I can taste his hostility. His strength, never diminished by his state of inebriation, I recall praying for him to pass out; thankful our children were not home.
He is an imposing figure, sober or otherwise, it has been said he possesses the physical strength of several men. I should know, seventeen years I called myself his wife - I should indeed, know.
I could not stop him entering the house anymore than I stopped myself berating him. I was beyond anger. The rhythmic thud of my heart gained momentum and aligned itself with the clock set high on the kitchen wall. I was afraid, livid. Inside this house, no longer a home, I was suffocating. His presence sapped the air, replacing it with angst and passion. Was he angry or hurt? I briefly wondered, then I realised, I simply did not care.
I wanted him to let me go, release me from his tightening grip. I felt the weight of him, his control unnatural. I prayed for escape.
The course mix of sand and seashells push into the cavities between my toes, the discomfort is welcome. I can no longer taste the saltiness in my mouth, for now, the tears are dry. I walk swiftly welcoming the breeze, like an old friend, I am embraced by the damp air surrounding me. I have no destination, I head for the horizon. Vigorously I pound the sand allowing the water to wash over my feet; it is a cleansing and refreshing ritual.
I wonder and try to recall how many times I have been here; walking to what seemed the ends of the earth. How many tears have I surrendered into the ocean’s swell?
As the sand bends with the mountain walls I enter the folds of the ocean, slowly embracing the icy swell as it laps my knees, my thighs. The splash soaks my underclothes, how welcoming, how soothing. Sliding into the depths of the tide, beads of sweat, trailing between my breasts and over my stomach wash away. At last I am submerged, I am surrounded and I can no longer hear anything other than the ocean’s symphony.
Momentarily I come out for air, with each moment the cyclic ebb and flow ease my heavy heart. One more time the encroaching darkness wraps its infinite arms around me and I am safe.
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