Date of post: 15th Jan
“You know what,”
I typed furiously.
“There is a drop of water that you may see
and I may see
And I will see it,
Yet you will not.”
Only, I didn’t type. It was a thought, blown by the storm of my conscience, to the front of my mind. It was the agitation of a revolt. Though similar to others I had had, this was new at the moment.
And at the moment I felt like fighting. Fighting in the wild sea with everything but the force behind it’s wilderness. I couldn’t find the force, you see. I loved the sea too intensely to see its reality. And it wrecked me. For my love was failing me every minute.
I always thought that I would want to be one of those the sea loved. Those pristine wholesome fish, living in clear water, removed from human lives. Yet somewhere along the lines I learnt to accept my position as the rusted, isolated ship. The ship that was nothing more than one entangled, broken mess on the side.
Oh and how I admired those pristine, wholesome fish. I saw how they charmed the sea. I wished I was them for a minute. But they did make me feel like I was worthless. They made me feel like I was not admired, all those times when the sea forgot I was there.
Still, hear, hear all of the world- I did feel like one of those that the sea loved-when the sea did recognise the bond between. Only recognise I say, not accept or embrace.
So then who am I to blame for the storm between us? The sea, the fish or I?
Maybe I am to blame the mirror that deceived me: my pristine, wholesome self, which was beautiful in it’s own way- just, in a galaxy where I saw a drop of water in all it’s importance, and the sea plainly saw a vast, undefinable blue stretch.
I had written this story as a metaphor for a relationship that saw no reciprocity from one end. The narrator expresses her angst for she loves someone who doesn’t love her back and wishes that her love could see the storm that she could see-the torture of his loving behaviour.