the Glass Child

The boy I love is allergic to sea water and for his birthday I brought him to the beach. Where does the sea begin— and I see him by the shoreline, watching over water as if he were guarding me. You cannot cross her, you cannot cross here, and he lets me go knowing he cannot follow. He watches as I swim further and further, and there are times I feel I am strong enough to go on swimming. I could spend my life without air, I can win over the forgetfulness of distance. And yet I always turn back to face the shoreline where he stands, the edge where sea ends.

He is allergic to sea water and yet he is in love with me.

I nourish just as I destroy— the warning is never lost— and the argument of whether I am good or bad for him is never won. All I know is that he is not water, he can never be water, how can he ever hold me?

On that blue shore I see him standing like a cliff, a stronghold, a refuge, a rock, and my waves crash against him with rage relentless as his patience is unrelenting. He could not be moved and I found that moving. He was both starting line and anchor point, port and dock. He lets my waves engulf him, and after I’ve drowned him with my roughness, he spreads himself like sand. I sink into him with the calmness of mornings, and never have I been held like this, never was I so contained.

Here I am with my disquiet and rage, and here is a lover who assumes my shape. He is more like water than I know, he is more than the water that I know, he is more than water.

Written by http://itouchtouchthings.tumblr.com

I know this, I’ve lived this. This is so beautifully written.

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