One-way-day

A still, never changing ocean. The bottom is in such a depth, that it might as well not exist. It's all mine. I live in it most of my days. Looking for lush islands. But all I find are slippery stones, just a few of them. I dance on them blindly, awkwardly trying to find a balance. Unaware of the fact that they are just stones, imagining they could be the rocky shore of one of those islands. I slip back into the water repeatedly. I grasp for the stones, trying not to lose the feeling of them. I try to climb back, over and over. But each time it's more difficult, my muscles are tired and my body is aching. I swim further away from them after each attempt, partly to look for an easier way to my imaginary island and partly because I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of them never leading anywhere. All I feel are slippery stones and the thought of them being no more than that enters my mind. Eventually, I'm unable to find my way back to them. I forget what they felt

For a while now, I've had an urge. To look at the stars for a whole night straight. Lay awake until the sun peeks, grows into a blooming flower amongst the weeds. Close my eyes. Close them gently and hummm... to myself. Comfort, a lullaby, wished and sang upon a weary man. A little loop at the end of a gut string, wrapped conveniently around each limb. It digs in just the wrong way. no more warmth no more tingling of a needle pin just a sensation. That something should be there.