The Electric Tide

It’s a feeling that glides in with the foamy water on to the shore in reach for what’s beyond, and just as regularly it rescinds back to long for the land where the people walk. If I reach out with my hand I feel I can touch it, but won’t, because the helpless feeling of being lost in the electric current merges loneliness in to the blood. The vibrating sounds run up through the wire and fill my ears in the quiet of night like a reliable friend. I’m not alone when the ocean sparkles so vibrantly and speaks with me. The many voices and colors on rotation flow over the levee and fill my head like a brain-shaped glass bowl of water. The water strobes with light and sound like a sugar high that’ll never come down. I don’t want to come down, because here on the banks I’m safe and warm ..but all alone.

     With a press of a button there’s a screen burning in the dark that makes it easier to cope. It’s my boat out in to the electric sea, or at least it used to be. Like all things, watching from the shore was good until it wasn’t enough. Watching from the boat was good until even the rocking of waves was no longer enough. Capsized and swimming as best I can, the feeling of raw energy is fading as the familiar plateau looms. It’s on the horizon like an ominous moon, yet somehow my lazy and apathetic soul still contemplates the feeling of sinking under the surface for the rush of holding my breath with a stubborn and persistent nature I wish would’ve kept me from  being here to begin with.

     My hands are pruning and my vision is cloudy as I tread the incandescent water. I don’t know where the cycle takes me next, and it’s here that I find my very soul becoming one with the electric tide. First, I saw the others reflected out in the sea beckoning I join them like a hive of friendly bees, but it seems like now I can only see them on land? So now I’m reaching…gliding in on the shore for what’s beyond reach, only to feel myself rescind back to long for the land where the people walk…

     There are nights where the feeling stays at sea. Nights where my own shore is untouched by the feeling of the watery tendrils creeping on me. Those DON’T make living here worth it. This ghost town with echoes of people being swiped in to focus threatens to meld me in to its ranks, nothing but a haunting hologram in a giant bowl to be snacked on for seconds at a time.

     I won’t let myself need this so badly that it comes to that.  


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