The Atlantic

The Atlantic Thought I was over it now, the call that is my destiny; twice I have tried to be a part of the sea, but I failed swam to the surface inhaling life giving air. I have moved inland, far from the sea, where there is a puny lake and it dries up in June. I have no son or daughter that will visit me at the old people’s home. No one to fuzz over me tell me not to smoke or waiting for me to go. The sea is my friend. My youth was spent there, alone at night standing on the deck, of a ship, talking to the ocean, listening to its warm hum; I resisted wanted more of life I think. I have been wrong now that I’m old and have lost my dignity, holding on to life when every stab of pain tells me I’m there. The sea has retreated I know it waits for me to know when it is time to go home.