The Lighthouse

As the day progressed, my stomach began to slosh with the juices of anxiety.
I felt vulnerable. That was the way I could describe it, the way I could understand the coming dribble of senseless emotion. I felt as if I had let on too much. But I knew myself, and I knew nothing about me ever stayed a secret. If someone asked, I obliged. I was not a secret.
I could feel the apprehension knocking at my ankles, caught in the tide of new emotional awareness. I found the possibility of my future even more distressing. I wanted to escape, somewhere where life was simple.
I imagined myself near the coast, enveloped in fog. I can barely see the world around me, as I stand on the rocky crags of cliff, but I can hear the crash of the waves. In my silence, by myself, this sound is comforting, reassuring, and calming. It is dark, dark clouds above. But the smell of salt in the air pulses in my lungs and my heart rate slows. I am relaxed. It reminds me of this quote someone once relayed to me when I told them how the ocean just made sense--by JFK. "All of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea -- whether it is to sail or to watch it -- we are going back from whence we came."
These words had special meaning to me, made sense. I can't explain what part of me responded to the ocean, but being near it made absolute sense. Total sense.
And just like that, I was calmed, for the time. But much longing and desiring a visit to a coast swarthed in fog, much like Point Reyes, where it would just seem like me and the ocean, where the world made sense and nothing could hurt me. The world was only good here.

"But you've got to much to wear on your sleeves, it has too much to do with me. And secretly, I want to bury in the yard, the grey remains of a friendship scarred."

~ Kissing the Lipless by the Shins