Grains of pillowy dust and blue crystal water gleaming under the sun,
We bask.
In relaxation, the laughs of others are louder
And kids run
free of care, wet, and bare.
It feels like we are meant to do this, I think to myself.
It feels like we are meant to do this….
Do what?
The more I learn about the human body, innately manufactured for the heightened reality of sensation and emotion, I realize it feels like we are meant to do this…
To run free and taste the salt on our lips from the ocean spray.
To lay with our loved ones, looking at the sky.
Simple apples, a snack sweet and cool to the touch, quenching our thirst as the sun warms us.
Hair stringy and messy and covering our faces, like children playing in the mud.
The smell of fish and salt, invoking curiosity of what’s beneath the glassy surface as we dive in.
Close to deepness and danger, we swim.
Hoping and knowing we will return home.
Our nerves, our skin, our being, is a machine to feel.
don’t let me forget the reminder of my being.
of my feeling
And screw the mindless mantra of your “identity” defined as your ability.
To produce.
We are produced
And that is enough.
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