Breathe in. Breathe out.

The mulling ocean waves pull away, only to be infinitely drawn back in. You trod along; barefoot in the pastel morning. The courseness of the sand contours to your wandering feet with every rise of the waves. The air is still, but alive. Like the morning dew, it's graceful ambience will soon be gone. The gulls call forth their morning song. They are your only company along this long stretch of beach. You trod forward.

Within your throbbing heart you find a weight lodged in your breast. Perhaps a forgotten bullet from an old battle. You can't tell it's metal form still lingers, except for when the world's pull changes. The places you walk are unique. Every place carries a different weight and claim it's own kind.That little shell only bears weight when love dictates the gravity; it wants to be reclaimed. You are at once rooted and lifted. Perhaps your soul rises in attempt to counteract the weight. You are subject to the most unorthodox movements within your heart. The morning is as gentle as a newborn and it's innocent eyes widen at the sight before.

You can see for miles along the beach, but somehow you didn't see him coming. Maybe you don't even see him, but you feel his presence. The wind whirls before him and warns you of his approach. The breath within your lungs is claimed and the oxygen from his presence flows through your veins to your very heart.  He is a small speck upon the chalky horizon. The ocean fog puts a haze before his frame.

I didn't know when I'd see you last. You came as an apparition of my memory. An unspoken wish embodied. I wonder why that was the timing for our travel worn feet to intersect paths. We both halted. For all my sure-headed wandering, you took me by surprise. Many fires have not burned through my iron gates; many waters have not drown the blaze of my heart; many foggy mornings haven't claimed my heading, yet at first renewed sight of you I am brought to my knees, crippled, crumbled, torn from my surety of identity.

I see you ahead of me, but I fear our meeting. The unspoken will ring out, drowning the wary exaltation of my words. A thousand words clammer in my head like so many agitated bees. But none find their way out of my mouth with grace. I know our time is short. I clip short phrases from the novel which I would yearn to speak. You will only truly see the yearning in my eyes, nearly drown from the tears of joy. Our time is always too short. I almost wish I had never seen you, but to be spared from this yearning.

I would almost rather you stay at your post. I would almost rather dive into the sea to be lost amongst its tumultuous body. Almost.