My Own Beach

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All I said I needed was to hit the beach, at least once before summer is over. What I actually found was my ass resting on the side of the highway. Probably this was the retreat I was seeking when my tongue spoke about a beach. I'm not far from the waves, though I'm hearing and breathing the same as there, getting hit by the same amount of sun, and being tortured with the extreme heat just as if I were there. The only difference is that I still got my clothes on, which I wouldn't mind to take off by the way. "What on earth is that man doing there? Is he trying to get himself a sunburn?" This is what the bypassers are thinking, maybe. But now I'm fully aware that the beach, in my case, is not the wave and the water, it's not the entry fee nor the guards, it's not the tan nor the cream, it's the sole state of being alone... I needed it more than anything. Too much confusion in my life makes everything far from all reason, far from every bit of sanity and logic. Watching a film reel go wrong, what would have you done? Probably fix it. Right? What if it's not getting fixed the way you know, you call for help. Then what if all didn't work and all your plans and dreams, all your expectations are firmly strapped to that reel? Then what?.... I don't think I'm getting wet today...

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