The Sand Heart

I often dreamed of myself, standing stiffly on the shore, coarse black sand beneath my feet, and my hair whipped in all directions by a warm, steady breeze that just arrived to signal the onset of summer. The pink sunrise breaking the dim dawn was a constant feature and such breaking was always scored with faint, dreamy, strums from an acoustic guitar. The sea, most of the time, was as quiet as dead, and not a sound was heard from it as wave after wave crashed the shore.

Then, after some time, the black shore was slowly warped into some shape, as if a strong wind gathered everything to start filling an invisible container in the air space. What used to be the sky became an explosion of colors that cascaded on the horizon like a sticky fluid poured from a wide-mouth jar. After a while, when everything was dispensed into the hollow, I saw a sand heart forming in front of me, and with it, I floated in space.

Now, as I sat here facing the window, remembering you, I figured I missed you more than I ever missed anyone before. That’s really a confession to make and I don’t know if it comforts me that you can’t or won’t hear of it.

I don’t know if I was here on your last day, but I can’t really remember being somewhere else. So, I guess, I was here after all. Maybe watching you, ever carefully, so you won’t notice. Maybe too, I contained all my deep sighs feeling more suffocated while breathing. I was sure though that I never said goodbye because your promise to return rang in my head like a crazy last song syndrome.

God knows I waited. I counted the days to your first break hoping against hope that you’ll return. So that finally, I can confess right to your face, that one or two days with you were my happiest in a very long time. And no, I don’t expect you to feel the same way, but well, just in case, you’d want to hold my hand, please do.