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The sea is following me,
or it feels that way.
There it is, right across
the path of silk,
under a canopy of daydreams.
The breakwater that holds
my body and my footsteps
encloses its blue soul.

Everything and everyone
that I see here
seems liquid
on the inside.

I am a vagabond,
but I am heir
to all this beauty.
It calls to me,
asks me to return,
every day,
chandeliers all polished
and festooned with all
the shooting stars I’ve
ever caught
and wished on,
carpets strewn with
fresh-cut petals of
inspiration so
abundant I can
trample them underfoot
and be stained by fragrance.

The sea is always here,
even as life
pushed me around
like a sliding block
along right-angled alleys
of elevators,
architected hallways
and rush hour traffic.
But the hard surfaces
of city chaos do not
pass beyond this point.
After this wall—
only love, only the deep.

I should have come sooner.
Here, in this place,
is everything:
purity and flow,
and memories of when
all was wind and light.
Here is the acceptance
that the past
could not have happened
any differently.
Here is the conviction
that I am at this moment
exactly where I should be.
I stand here
on the edge of the world,
with all traces gone
of ever being wronged.

“Waiting” by photographer Sonya Khegay


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