He told me how the waves felt out there,
like sliding down the road on a patch of ice,
screaming for traction,
and swallowing a gallon of water instead.
These were the years he’d survived,
years of betrayal, heartbreak, hunger, loss,
thrashing in the ocean
tethered to a surfboard,
fighting to resurface
before having any hope to breathe again.
He knew everything I wanted,
for he wanted them too,
but we were swimming against the current
and only he understood
the devastation that could drag us under
if we didn’t heed the water’s fury
and wait until we stood on two feet again
before trying to walk.
It’s been awhile but I’m trying to write again.