Will there ever be relief? My suffocated heart, a weathered compass, blindly guides me into the radical-ness of this storm. Salt water on my tongue, salt water in my troubled eyes. It is salt water who grips me, grieving me endlessly. To be body-less in its entity would be escapism beyond my reach. To morph myself- I the water, the water I. Perhaps with a systematic grace and grit, a southern kind of graciousness this north western girl could mimic. Yet I hear in the distance the ringing of a bell, for whom does this bell toll? Is it for me? I whisper. Emptied of all control.
Photo credit: Caspar David Friedrich – Der Mönch am Meer