Into the Ocean

My mind was blown when the clock read six forty-seven.
I could feel you creeping into my thoughts,
calm as the ocean,
like waves lapping against the shore—
the threatening flood hidden beneath still water.

Someone died.
Was there a rescue?
Did someone drown?
I dipped my feet too deep.

What am I saying?
You never even touched the surface.
What happened to testing the water?

At this point, there was no doubt about it.
Your face was trying to say something.
You were pale.
You weren't moving.

After the first bait and switch,
the rest were masterful.
Yeah, I remember.
You were bored.

Why did you have to be so stoic?
I appear sharp on the outside;
it didn't help you decide.

From your stillness,
I knew the investigation had concluded.
It's me, as you can see.
I'm the ocean.

You didn't drown.
You didn't leap.
You fled
and got lost in the forest.

Whatever you chose to do,
it had nothing to do with me and you.

You showed me your scars,
but ran the moment you saw mine.
You were disillusioned by what you found.

Was there remorse you refused to face?
I'm confused.

The echoes of your wails
were trapped in the mountains.
They reached me.

You're digging a deeper grave
for your sorrows.

I gestured toward the way out.
All along,
I imagined you as some sort of premonition—
the retaliation
of the woman I locked inside her prison.

I tossed bloody branches onto the ground.
Burning papers traced a path
through the middle of the vast land.

I implored you to leave.
You didn't.

I stared at the painting on my wall.
You were once a drawing,
a sketch of some sort.

My feeble attempt at a smirk failed.
Beyond all your disguised charm,
there was nothing but a charade.

Everything remained the same.

My ink-bled hand kissed the art.
I am who I am.
That much is certain.

You're trapped in the here and now.
That is your sentence.

I flipped the pages.
I penned my name beneath the ending.

Like the papers we signed,
I cast them into the lake
and let the water carry them
to the end of the beginning.