Longing

The following is an experiment with writing. Tell me whether you think it was effective, or if it just made you confused. The goal was to stir up sounds, images, smells, and feelings. Did it work? 

 

Foamy waves lap between my toes, tenderly grasping at the indifferent sand. It’s cold, and a drab mist rises from the sea, swirling and searching. A guitar is my companion, so I murmur lines of wistful, melancholy tunes. They’re lost to the barren wind, which comes in isolated, desperate gusts; smelling of salt. Somewhere down the shore a lonesome toad croaks. His appeal is received by none, except the stars overhead. They seem close – somehow, deceptively attainable. But they remain unimaginably distant. I lay the guitar down, and breathe in the thick hush around me.

Sometimes, on nights like this, I can feel you. Quietly, unsought, you come with the stillness. Your warmth presses against me; your voice whispers softly at my neck. I hold my breath and my heart skips a beat. Your touch sends a flush, and a shiver across my skin. Your lips brush delicately on mine. And with a wisp of the wind, you’re gone, the taste of your kiss still tingling.

And then I am alone again with the sea. Darkness chills through me and a cloud covers the moon. I’m choked with a heavy longing for you. I stretch a hand to the night sky, and bring it back empty. Slowly, purposefully, I pick up the guitar again to sing you a lullaby. It is heard by only the lonesome toad, and the passing wind.