He left all of his clothes behind and went swimming; he ran deftly, barefoot and all, through the trees and the grass, skipping over all the sharp stones, his body rejoicing.
The light danced between him and the shimmering water once he reached the lake, and his face was pure and paltry—like two-bit memory or shaking hands with someone you’ll certainly forget and then never remember.
One day, he knows, he’ll grow old or not, and die too. But the freedom of this moment: as he jumped into the cold liquid, which embraced him, and he laughed like he doesn’t remember doing, but which again he craves every day without knowing. His heart pumping to the beat of the ripples against his face, he splashes and dreams of things. Summer sings in his lungs, and breath is his seat. He swims out into the open expanse of water, examining his liminal fate, and stunned, he has, for this moment, forgotten and surrendered and returned.
No comments:
Post a Comment