The oceans have been my barriers for years now, depriving me of what lies beyond them. The oceans are my borders, borders that I cannot cross, that I cannot break. There are names that I have called out to. But what I’ve said has been lost in the waves. What I’ve written has been buried beneath the sand dunes. The infinite oceans will always stand in my way, and I will be forever trapped on the other side. There are no boats, no ships to take me back home. I have a brother on the other side. I have forgotten how to talk to him. How to define this deep knot in my throat. How to ask the infinite questions that one can ask. I blame the oceans, the waves, the sands, the stones.
I have been lonely on this side. I like to sit by the ocean, watch the waves, the currents, burry my feet under the warm sand, close my eyes, and imagine that home is right there, within my reach. I like to imagine that we are talking about what we never talked about. I like to imagine that we are talking about the feelings we have kept inside.
Maybe if I could drown inside the waves. Maybe if I could travel on the currents. Maybe if I could be the ocean. If only I could.
I have been writing for what seems like eternity and I am still on the other side and the oceans are still my barriers and I am still waiting. Waiting to cross. Waiting to escape this state of nostalgia that has plagued my soul.