The sun and the sea

I am sitting on a precipice, with the constant click click click of the pen that sways between my fingers. The sheets of my notebook move with the wind, my lips must already be violet from the cold and the biting.

 I came here about three hours ago and I haven’t moved since then. I have repeated at least seven songs, and the sun is about to set but I refuse to move. Because I am waiting. 

Waiting for the words to appear and to have a story in my mind that I could awake with ink. And leave it standing between the pages of a notebook that is hidden under my bed. However, my mind is thinking of bananas for breakfast, the yellow colour of the jacket and the distance of the stars. 

It’s thinking in different possibilities and several beginnings but no content for the story. So the time passes and the click click click becomes unbearable. 

I lay the pen between two rocks that I have to my left and I start to swing my legs. Thinking in the chances of survival if I fell now, be it by an earthquake or an error. I would fall to the void and to the noise of the waves hitting the rocks. 

In the logical part of my brain I know I would die quickly in a pain that would last ten seconds but that would feel eternal. However, in the fictional part, I think about the ways to live and the life that would follow to that. I let that life exist for ten minutes.

And when I see the horizon, I can visualise the reflection of the sun in the sea and I witness the moment when the sun gets to caress the earth. Where they are intimate for a few minutes, with the pink tones of his blush and the orange of their love and the water that shines with his light. 

I think about the beauty of the nature and love of those seconds of contact and magic. Where they can talk and fall in love, and without realising it, I have the pen in my hand. 

And I write, as I cross out, I write sloppy, with ink on my fingers and misspelt words. Without commas or periods, I write what my mind dictates and it dictates fast. The lines are filling out, with my tongue resting on my lips and my eyes that don’t blink and just stare at the page. 

They don’t absorb the letters and then they look at the sun that is slowly hiding behind his precious water. Hiding of his dear land to let way to his lover the moon. 

I keep writing, letting these brief minutes to illuminate me in the development of the story. I feel it on the tips of my feet, and the stings in my stomach that I am close, that these are the last words of my protagonist. 

Which ironically are the first, I am anxious and nervous, I am making more mistakes. Still, I hurry because the light is leaving me and with it my muse, so I write more clumsy, and their lips are close. 

With the agitated breathing and the bent legs, close to the climax, almost there, my hand is shaking and I should take a breath. Yet in my skin, I feel the cold of the night and the water is shining less. I can’t, I must continue, I don’t want to, I am almost there. 

I continue, he is leaving, however, she stops him, grabs him. The rays of the sun are fading and I almost see the first star, but she has him closer, their lips are there, only a push, and the story will be complete. 

I feel blood on my teeth, I must have broken my skin from all that biting and it doesn’t matter. Because I feel my heart in my throat and I am holding my breath, the toes of my feet are bent and my hair dances with the wind. 

He sighs her name, her hands are on his neck, cold and delicate, they are close, almost there. With the last words like an echo in my mind, my writing is getting slower knowing that is the end. 

My legs are moving and almost there from the kiss, the moon appears, I hear another click and my story stops there. 

Between the sun and the moon, caught in that instant and I could wait for tomorrow and get inspired again. 

But no, the almost kiss of them is their kiss and their proclamation of love. Another click, I give it my signature. 

Click, I get up and I leave with my shadow between the bushes and the closed notebook. 

T.A.