No one ever really runs from anything. Escapism is just a wishful thinking we employ to master comforting ourselves that we can move as flexibly as we like when the inevitable hits us. In fact, this is like a private trap that holds us in like a prison. It is even more comforting to know that we clamp in them and none of us can never get out. It creates a togetherness much needed to hang on when the bars close in front of you. We scratch and we claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch. And I’m no exception. Although, I feel like I am standing alone at the edge of a watery precipice that wants to devour me. A paper boat on a tropic storm and I just manage to float across the street, just in time to breathe again.

I assume you are the current that pulls me in an ocean of longing. The more I try to break the surface of the waves the deeper I go. In between salt water and the one from above I sink out of breath. The freckles down your spine is the golden ram in the sky sent to rescue me. But, I will have to confess that most the times I feel like the storm myself. Like the tidal wave that covers up everything. That is the closest to touching you again. As I reach out and coat all other things I always hope that I will end up wrapping you and keep there in this tight circle of my embrace. However, more than most of the times I end up soaking wet pretending to be a fisherman that has everything under control while his boat is occupied by fish he cannot kill to eat. They do it and rather succesfully. So, he spends his waking hours striving in agony to realise where he has gone wrong. But I find nothing. Nothing if I do not find you.

It is late again now, today. It is a quarter after three and the storm still produces water, violently disturbing the atmoshpere. The drip drop against the windowsill — but God does not seem angry this morning. There is no growl in its voice but there is a rasp in the back of my throat each time you claw your way to a higher place. You are trying to reach the top but the truth is I have allowed you to do so a long time ago. I have chosen this as my glorious healing. I shoulder my ache in my chest which is the size of the distance between you and me but I push on it closer.

Closer. But, not close enough to touch you. It is holy but I have not set foot in church. Holy and man never mingle until it is to let to believe in anything ever again. I’m such a good liar aren’t I? A fabricator of my own destiny, since I believe in finding it all when I find you.

Perhaps if I claw some more I will find it all there. The root and the cost of what I do not know I am paying for because God has seen it all before me. Perhaps, if I count the cracks I will be able to measure the extent of his knowledge. It certainly derives from the depths of hell I find warmth and comfort every time you find your way back to me.

Author: Pepi Naki

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