Lights Will Guide You Home.

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I remember my childhood home very clearly. The place I spent my middle school in. I had a couple of my classmates as neighbours, one of them being one of the best friends I’d had at that time. But more than that, what makes me think of that house clearly is the proximity to the sea. At the quietest of evenings, I could feel the sea breeze, and see the sun setting, and I would know that only three kilometers away, there would be the best sight I have ever seen, repeating itself. At night, sometimes, while I’m out in the balcony, seeing the stars, I remember wishing that I’d grow up, and would lie on the beach gazing at those stars. I remember wishing that with me, I’d have my best friend, while both of us have lied down on the sand, probably tracing patterns on each others’ arms, and hearing the other breathe, and hoping that the life I was dreaming would one day come true. How else could I define bliss? Lying on a beach, watching the stars, the sea air tingling our half parted lips, the taste of sea, and salt; and the lightest of breeze? But like all childhood dreams, this too changed. Life moved on, and I was stuck in the dilemma of holding on, or letting go.

Today, after four and a half years of leaving that small town behind, I found bliss again. I went back to the beginnings. I went back to another beach. This time, two of them. First, I went speed boat riding. While my mum and aunt were scared, I was so sure of going that I didn’t have to think twice. I knew the sea was where I belong, and no matter what happened, I’d never be afraid of it. Later, I went to the prettiest beach I’d ever seen. I spent about four hours there, playing in the water, and writing Poseidon on the sand, watching the tide wash it away. I kneeled down on the sand, getting wet and at times, letting the tide push myself to the shore. Yes, water went into my mouth, and my eyes, soaking my spectacles, and making my vision blurry. I held my dad’s hand, like I did as a little kid, and let the tide wash away all my doubts and worries. I let the sea love me, as I loved the sea, and I let myself go once again.

So now, my best friend and I might not talk anymore. I no longer wish to lie with him on the beach watching stars. I no longer hold on to those childhood dreams of wanting to be wanted, and to belong. Rather, now I wish I could lie there alone. In peace. I wish I could watch the lights and probably the murmur of children playing and laughing. I wish I could hear the horses galloping away in distance. I wish I could see the distant lights of crackers bursting against the night sky, and a falling star fall away in the distance, against a clear sky. I wish the sea smelled of the salt, as the light breeze danced away like peacocks.

And I wish I could watch the sunset every day, and the sea, moving about like boiling water, and the silhouette of happy people in the distance, as the sun is about to set, casting its reflection in the water, the white sand caressing me, and the occasional twig here and there teasing me. I wish I could see the bright light of the day turn into night, as the tides go deeper, everyday.

I remember wishing today that the perfect death would be at the sea, and almost at that instant, I took it back. I don’t want people to remember me as the person who died at the sea; I want them to remember me as the person who lived at the sea. I want them to remember me as a person who felt at home while the tide hit me at my chin, sitting down in water, with my legs floating on the water, as much as I feel at home in my bed with my favourite book, and coffee. Because, sea is my home, and I am as much related to Poseidon as I am to Athena.

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About TheBlackWallflower

I'm just your average unique person. I love to read and write (no surprises there, eh?) and think a lot. I adore Rowling and think Harry Potter should be a religion. I also hate pink. I love fluff generally because it makes me feel intelligent and I love poetry because it makes me feel different. (yes, references.) I'm married to Sirius Black. So I sign myself as The Bitch alarmingly often. Oh, and I love Mr. Darcy. And Jo Longo. And Chandler Bing. And Sherlock. (Yes, I'm a fantard.) And in case you want to drop in a good, or a critical word, feel free to email me: theblackwallflower@gmail.com OR, follow me on Twitter: @WallflowerBlack Enough with the babble. OkBye. View all posts by TheBlackWallflower

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