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What happens when someone else takes over the story you thought was yours and insists on telling it HER way? And that person is – of all things – the sounding mythic waves of THE SEA?
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I felt, I knew. The footsteps in the sand, the edge of my domain. Mine own. Paddling. Happy. Friends (so young – well she was young).
Then. Then. Oh what? (surge storm seawrack, and lightning strike).
Stop. Clear his (who ‘he’? no name, no name still?) clear leg of seatangle. Steps again. Splashes, sea ripple, sparklings in the sun.
Long stop. What? What are they doing?
I knew. (not the first time of mortal love, did I not begin it first in those old days before the fall of the tide?).
Seagulls’ distant call. I had it now. They were calling to love.
I felt his arms reach, arms for her. In the mist.
His head bending to her, his mouth to kiss, to trust, to swim with him.
‘NO! NO!! ’
I felt her pull away, back, ‘way from him. Panic, oh worse than panic, drowning (that terror), then panicking, terrified, she was too young (she thought, I felt it in her, as mothers do) she was not ready she was afraid she was terrified only fifteen not ready yet she must flee fly flight at once now now immediate too young sea loud storm tangled tangle hair with sea wrack caught not get-awaying panic she was too young now now to run run … run …
I felt, I heard, the running running running, hers, sand reverberating, thudding, shocking, shocked. I heard. And felt for him. For hurt. But …
Would he follow? No. For I surged. In his way. My destiny, my destinationing. Sorry.
She was lost in the mist, no way to see, to go.
I swept up the shore. Gently up, but I swept for sure. In in. Right up. High water line. Obliteratering the marks. Quite gentle does it all.
She had abandoned him, abandoned, yes abandoning. Why did she not swim? Easy to find the sea then swim, I’d made it gentle, crashing stopped, along the shore, so easy for her then (not after).
Would he follow? No. For I surged. In his way. My destiny, my destinationing. Sorry.
She was lost in the mist, no way to see, to go.
I swept up the shore. Gently up, but I swept for sure. In in. Right up. High water line. Obliteratering the marks. Quite gentle does it all.
She had abandoned him, abandoned, yes abandoning. Why did she not swim? Easy to find the sea then swim, I’d made it gentle, crashing stopped, along the shore, so easy for her then (not after).
Still standing there he was. Stood stunned, shocked numb, paralysed with short breaths, not yet believing she’d rejected him, her dearest nearest bested trusted childhood’s friend. Now, growing up, was surely time. Was time for love. Had not romances, myths fables that they’d shared, the heroes, dragons killed, maidens, that they’d read as one and veneration-ed not told them so? Why had she not believed? And stayed. Or swum.
Oh go Kate go. I gentle my breakers, wheedle with wavelets, sing the sweet melody of the ocean waves. But still she did not dare. Not even one foot feeling in.
Oh Kate.
Oh Kate my pearl. Nurtured in my waves, my grits my grains of deepest caves,, carved from curved ripples, translucenting, sung in the dancing waves of dawn, oh Kate my pearl, my wished for precious own.
Oh not too late, I’ll hold the tide. The moon objects? Sweet Selene, but love but love comes first, pray she agrees.
What, was she hesitating now? Kate. Yes, yes, go on. Now one toe in. Then drawn quick back.
Go on go on, it’s warm and soft. Only my sweetest arms to holden you. Here boundless peace, no storms or breaking waves. Or broken hearts.
Hesitates again.
Oh dare it dare, my Kate my dear of old, my mortal one. Still not too late.
I felt her shrink, abond shrunk again. I knew. She dared not dare to think. even let it enter into her mind. She could not swim at all, she said (she could) even for him, her friend, even if she … But she did not. Of course did not. Her life was other, her own destiny.
Though – She hesitated, hovered again.
But oh but oh too late too late, oh Kate too late.
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