the beach

i walk unto the beach.
(why do i fear only water,
and never sand?
tiny particles could swallow me
just as the flooding currents could.
when i walk unto a beach,
the sound of the waves
reach my ears, and i can't really hear
anything else, and i am scared
of the noise (what others consider soothing
my brain interprets as frightening)
and yet i go further
deeper
into the water
and let the coolness wash over my feet
my ankle, my leg, and if i am brave enough
on that particular night, or if you are there
to make sure i won't disappear,
then maybe it might reach my waist
but go no higher,
i might burst of this trembling doubt
that i can't handle it,
i really can't!
anxiety joins the waves
pulling me in closer,
to where? where?
what to do
if i can't find home?
if i live to a terrifying death,
because i know nothing,
and possible is everything.
but i play with the sand,
even when i see the water beneath.
trap, is it a trap?
will the water seep, not down, but up
when i am unaware and take me?
(or am i actually upside down?))
i can't see the stars.
(mother, father,
why have you named me after hope?
stars are constant, to the eye.
did you not know that they are dead?
or would you rather not see the bigger picture?
the bigger question?
is there some reason to anything?
what are the chances that
reality is fake?)
they are behind clouds.
(are they hiding?
am i hiding?)
i look to the lighthouse
(in the distance.
can you see the bright dot
turn into a beam,
going to the right,
then to the left,
over and over again?
is this life?
repetition?)
and watch the waves
(they run over each other,
like we run over each other,
and sometimes when they are strong enough
they sprint over the shoreline.
but they can't stay,
and we can't stay,
you know that.)
and the white foam
(rising, falling, arriving, disappearing).
and i wonder why
(why
why
why)
i am here
(on the beach,
on this trip,
living)
and why i want
(to see the stars
to write on the sand
to find some shells and skeletons
to find him)
and not want
(to live)
everything,
(yes, everything)
all at the same time
(i love so much,
and hate so much,
give so much,
and receive so much,
good,
and bad,
pleasures,
and pains,
young,
and yet so old...)

so i thought,
if i want to be here,
and not be here,
it means that i still want to be here.
because, if given the choice,
i wouldn't leave.
because i've come to this spot,
and i am here.
and i looked up at the sky,
the stars had come out of hiding.

(and i realized,
what is the ocean
but the accumulation
of everyone's fallen tears?)