yearning
it washes over me, salty tang palpable on my lips. an appropriate metaphor, perhaps, because it leaves me sticky all over, like clingwrap against my skin. wasn't water supposed to cleanse? this one does the opposite, seawater that dirties the pores of my skin. yet it is cooling for a moment, a refreshing wave of clarity. for just a singular moment, at the height of the tiny wave that crashes against me, i feel alive. happy, warm.
and then it pulls away, and the gripping darkness and wicked grip of the night wind feels ever more painful against my pockmarked skin.