What I wouldn’t give to disappear. To no longer be this version of myself. What I wouldn’t give to be the ripples in the soft tide along the grassy beach. The way their movements are gentle but constant. Constant only for so long, I suppose.
But these small waves don’t grow angry like the others. They keep level. I wish to be them, massaging and caressing the bodies of the ducks. Or even to be those peaceful ducks, floating as though possessed by magic, gliding across the water. Weightless.
I wish to escape from the rough edges of my mind and body. This thing that holds my soul is reversed. Fragile, soft, and breakable on the outside, but sharp and painful on the inside. I wish to escape this world that treats me so cruel. I never could figure out what I had done to deserve it.
Why was I not born water? Why was I not born the meticulous tree, or grass, or flower? Burn me and spread my ashes to the earth so I might be absorbed into its order.
Let me be love. Let me be beautiful earth that so many travel miles to adore. Let me be honored and preserved. Let me show that I am not one to be tampered with. Let all know.
Oh, what I wouldn’t give.
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