Where to begin...
That overwhelming feeling of being lost, lost in your mind, lost in your body, not knowing what day it is (or even caring), those maudlin days of transient existence where you just are because you have to be - not down, not depressed or upset or sad; no, just a little lost.
The roar calls me first. That constant never-ending white noise that people seem to crave, it’s part of me, all the time. I start to walk towards it, the silence in my head broken intermittently by cars, people chatting, cows bellowing, sheep bleating. But I can still hear it, waves gently lapping against the rocks creating waves of that heady roar reverberating through my body through the ground beneath my feet.
My pace quickens, I can taste the salt in the air, see the soft mist rising not far from me now, hear that roar. The sun burns my head, yet the wind is cold against my face. My body is hot under all my layers, begging to feel the coolness of the breeze against my skin.
People. Damn people. Everywhere. I keep my head down, hoping not to be seen and engaged in pleasantries. The sand yields under my feet, I have to balance carefully to pick my way to my place all the while praying no-one has found it before me.
My thighs ache from the exertion, first fighting to keep my footing in the sand, now on slippery rocks that are clearly laughing at my efforts of being agile. You’re old, just use your hands too...
I peek down. It’s empty. I smile a contented familiar smile, the one you unconsciously do when you meet your closest friend you haven’t seen in a while, my safe smile. My ass finds my spot, my hands caressing the smooth welcoming softness of the cold hard rock beneath. My eyes are drawn to that point between rock and water, that ebb gently caressing, nudging, hinting at something bigger and greater, teasing the surface with its wetness.
The roar is loud and clear, safe in my soul. The ebb is increasing, I can feel little splashes on my skin, my lips. I can taste what’s coming. Quickly I start removing layers, the need to be close to it an ache inside me. Folding, wrapping them all up to keep them dry. Then opening myself to what I want, what I need.
Just a t-shirt and some jeans, nothing else, my body heat fighting to stay, the cold caressing the surface of my skin sneaking under what little clothing I have left. Goosebumps all over, hard nipples having a staring contest with the sea. The first spray hits my feet, droplets running between my toes. I’m angry. It’s not enough.
The low somber roar turns to a growl, challenging me. My hands on my thighs feel damp, yet not a droplet to be seen. “Come on”, I whisper, “show me what you’ve got”. A deeper growl in return. Droplets between my fingers now, adding dampness to the thighs they rest on, leaving lines like arrows pointing to an increasingly damp core.
“Please, I need you now”, tears as I beg for more. A resounding loud roar fills me up in response, the salt water mixing with my salty tears, the mist encasing me completely, my hair curling from the moisture, the sun burning through the crystals on my face and arms, a soft dampness settling on my body, taking me home, wrapping me up in its arms and reminding me “I am”.
