the beach

I see myself sitting on a rock in the middle of the lake. There’s a rock in my fist. There’s an echo in my heart. My therapist tells me to let my little self stay there, exploring the beach, holding onto her rocks for dear life until we come back to see her.

I take a shaky breath. I open my eyes.

We went to the beach yesterday.

It’s my favourite beach. You can feel the energy, there.

It lives in the rocks. It leaves footprints in the sand.

It’s not a nice beach, by any means. The rocks are sharp and slimy. There’s almost certainly something crawling up your leg. It slithers and pokes and gnaws a hole through the bottom of your foot. You shake it off and keep swimming.

I sit on a slimy rock, a bit too far from shore.

I am nothing but this moment.

I am nowhere but here.

I lean back and open my arms.

Small hands place sharp rocks in my upturned palms.

I close my eyes. I close my fists.

I take a shaky breath.