The sea and the means

My dearest friend wore me recently and, in light of recent trials in our lives, mentioned a desire to buy a boat and go out to sea, never to return.

I've been wishing to flee myself of late. I know this utter pull of escape. As though simply uprooting oneself and disappearing into the horizon could erase the pain. Unfortunately I see the past wherever I go. The future may be what pulls one forward, but the past is what ties one to the present. Knowing what's been makes what is more real. So in response to my friend's message I sent this.

"The sea is a barren desert of rocking and nausea. Sure it's filled with fertile and lush life but that's all beneath the surface; and though sparcity can be nice, it's also quite draining. Besides, the beauty of the world is in fact everywhere. If it wasn't, I'd be gone by now. The only thing that keeps me facing each day is the knowledge that there's something else out there that I'd like to see, witness, or do. I'd like to buy a motorcycle and drive it to the beach. I'd travel up the coast stopping at sea bluffs and forests. I'd visit all the cities and stroll up broad boulevards with tall buildings and masses of people living their lives. I'd tip-toe through tulips and sit beneath cedars. I'd smell salt, grass, and manure. I'd look to the sea and know that it's out there, but know that it stops at another land far away with different people and plants and bluffs and broad boulevards. Then I'd come back on my motorcycle and share my adventures with you, then hand you the keys and a camera and send you off on your own. I'd tell you to kiss Arcata for me."

And she would.