Seth’s World View

I can feel the pent-up stress underneath the service. I want to break something, maybe the surface tension, dive into the unknown just so I can end up somewhere else where I’ve never been, so the water will look different, feel different. Not that I can swim, but who cares. I’ve had enough of this path, enough staring into the vastness of ocean, wondering, waiting, wishing, and then missing the boat when it comes near, not seeing it for what it was. And I hate it, and I hate me, for a moment, as my fists smash the water, with enough speed that it hurts. It’s better than numbness, wading into the water till I feel nothing, but only hear the tide, go out, come in, and go away. And I would direct my anger elsewhere, if I was surrounded my sand, which just falls through my fingers, already too small for me to gain satisfaction from tearing it apart. If I pounded hard enough, long enough, maybe it would turn to glass, and then I would see, me, tired eyes, with a glimmer of hope hiding in the corner, and a silent determination to cast off into the darkness, like a mariner pushing out to see, sextant in hand, trusting his instincts, and thowing himself into journey, the destination less important than the pursuit, living, breathing, feeling, as he sails off the edge into the sunrise, cool breeze drifting past, with a quietness that silences his soul.