Free Write -- The Pier

This place is black and dark blue and dark steel gray. It is endlessly moving. It is alluring. I stand on the edge of the pier at night. A night in June. The soft skin of my daughter's arm bumping against me. I glance at her wise expression, wondering what is she thinking, dreaming of, wishing for. I am busy framing my own wishes, desires. And intermittantly wondering what would it be like to plunge like a stone into that black mass below. It seems that could do it, that you could jump into that water unscathed and the surface and swim to the shore. Someone must have tried it. If I had come here drunk, I'm sure I would have.

But I am not drunk. I am also not suicidal. This is not a suicidal thought. But the urge is there, to let go, to fall through the warm air, forgetting, forgotten. A challenge, I guess. It seems like a test of courage, of strength, of fortitue. Is that what I crave even now? The courage to let go, to trust, to fall, to plunge and then steadily swim to the shore.

All year I dream about the ocean. Two nights ago I was there and for a brief interlude content. I am dark as that ocean, I have no idea what is there in my silent depths.