Vanya
HALI
even the sky and sea cannot contain me
There’s little that can be said about the comfort of Mort’s Halls, yet everything all at once. What words can actually encompass it? Maybe others that are better with words could figure it out, but I know that while I lack the words to conjure up what death is like...
I could say everything about this.
The surf is cold. It parts around my ankles and then tugs back, like an old friend—one I left behind without saying goodbye—begging me to play again. I never did say goodbye to the Ocean, and it’s hard not to dive in now, to taste the salt and feel the way the water can cradle like a lover. The imperfect breeze pulls my hair just the wrong way, strands whipping across my eyes no matter how many times I brush them aside. I let it happen. I let it all happen. I stand stubbornly watching the horizon as my time here ebbs away, as if I could re-memorize the way the living sky swells with fire before the dark.
The tide is going to wash out again, and with it, all these things a heart like mine could never *not* miss.
Like him.
I hear Ronin first, and I step back from the water to grin at him, and I take an offered glass. “And yet here I am, entirely unsurprised. You like meeting people on beaches.”
I let him think, maybe selfishly looking over all the new details I’d never known before. He’s aged well, and is still the man I remember. I want to interrupt his apology the moment he says it, but I don’t. I wonder how long he’s held onto it, how long he’s needed to say it with someone to actually hear it.
“Of anyone, Ronin, it would never be you that owes me an apology,” I promise him firmly. My brows pull together, and I reach out to squeeze his hand. “Not you, not Remi.” I squeeze his hand once more, then tug on it as I step back toward the gentle surf with a grin. “Now come on. Shoes off. You got the wine right, but you are sorely overdressed for a beach party. And don’t forget your socks.”
I could say everything about this.
The surf is cold. It parts around my ankles and then tugs back, like an old friend—one I left behind without saying goodbye—begging me to play again. I never did say goodbye to the Ocean, and it’s hard not to dive in now, to taste the salt and feel the way the water can cradle like a lover. The imperfect breeze pulls my hair just the wrong way, strands whipping across my eyes no matter how many times I brush them aside. I let it happen. I let it all happen. I stand stubbornly watching the horizon as my time here ebbs away, as if I could re-memorize the way the living sky swells with fire before the dark.
The tide is going to wash out again, and with it, all these things a heart like mine could never *not* miss.
Like him.
I hear Ronin first, and I step back from the water to grin at him, and I take an offered glass. “And yet here I am, entirely unsurprised. You like meeting people on beaches.”
I let him think, maybe selfishly looking over all the new details I’d never known before. He’s aged well, and is still the man I remember. I want to interrupt his apology the moment he says it, but I don’t. I wonder how long he’s held onto it, how long he’s needed to say it with someone to actually hear it.
“Of anyone, Ronin, it would never be you that owes me an apology,” I promise him firmly. My brows pull together, and I reach out to squeeze his hand. “Not you, not Remi.” I squeeze his hand once more, then tug on it as I step back toward the gentle surf with a grin. “Now come on. Shoes off. You got the wine right, but you are sorely overdressed for a beach party. And don’t forget your socks.”
for i am endlessly free
