Pleasure, Pressure

It was dark, and the moon acted as the minion of the sun sending packets of light across the thick clouds that aided the April morn chills. We were simply strolling, and for no particular reason we simply took a walk. I was there, I remember it all. But every time we talk about it, it’s as if you are telling me everything was a dream. Graving the feeling of longing that I feel every time the month steps on the 28th. I was there, I remember it all. But the next day, you don’t know me, you cannot recognize me, and yet you kept telling me you love me, or so it seems. For all I know, that dark twilight, and the slow unfolding of the sky’s bright Sol, you were there, I remember it all.

Slowly, gently, the winds touched the ocean surface. Slowly, that touch turned into a tremendous set of waves, clashing one after the other! We heard it both, the waves. It’s as if the rocks were to crumble as they are slowly touched by the powerful waves made by the wind and the ocean. I wonder how the sand kept being aplomb. It was there, simple not moving. It was there, seeing and feeling, making the waves feel like it’s nothing. Maybe, during the clash, it sees what the event horizon of that small touch can bring. A tumultuous chaos that only the ocean will experience. From that very moment, the current underneath began changing, and the direction of the ocean inward land decreased. For all we know, the wind was stable, it kept kissing the surface of the earth, and everyone wanted to be with the wind. The ocean on the other hand, has a chaotic current underneath. It sought to ease the current by another touch of the wind. But it’s gone. Simply away. Where could he find someone to straighten that contact, that wave clash, that pain inside?

It may have been quite a short time, but I still do remember, what could possibly be of our seventh month? Yesterday could have been another glorious day, just like that dark night. But again, here is the ocean. Wishing yesterday was real, and wasn’t a dream. For if it was reality, the possibility of the wind going back gives the pinnacle of hope he will live on. If, yesterday was a dream, like how the wind showed it to me, the longing will be forever. For in sleep, nothing can assure of the ocean meeting the wind once again, at least even for just one snap of their moment. For in the dream, wind never visited, and the ocean thought it simply forgot. It was a tragedy with one surviving, and the other slowly dying. Yes, I remember it all, but when you tell the story to me, it’s as if everything was a dream, everything was surreal.


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