The fourth world

Story Writing

There’s something so calming in the never ending caress of the oceans waters upon the land’s beaches.  As though for all things that terminate, there lays a caress for them as they become one with the earth, as they disintegrate into the tiny grains of sand from which they had been so intricately constructed.  And within these waters, miraculously there’s another world, yet that world a part of mine, the overview, the greatness that encompasses all other worlds yet to be diagnosed by my curious eyes.  How dubious the fish seem as they approach shallow waters, and like them I too am uncertain at treading unfamiliar ground…in this case unfamiliar water.  Bathing, basking, seduced by the sun’s rays, lips tingling as though from a lover’s kiss. The waters caress me languidly and as my eyes gaze upon these creatures my mind flutters at the thought of these populations with a routine of their own, do they know I am a part of their world?  Do they feel the wonder I feel?  Does their throat constrict upon seeing me, as does mine, with awe at the beauty this picture paints in my heart? The salt of my tears melds with the salt of the oceans, with the salts of this sea.  Love for my land overtakes me, pride of my people overwhelms me, and a passion and envy for this sea suffocates me.  I want so much to stay forever where I am, to be one with this mass of liquid, to last forevermore in a state of tranquility as I reassure myself day after day, minute after minute, second after second that my land, my roots are intact, my home is near.  I fear that one day I will never return, never again to feel the slight sting of salt in my eyes, the soft kiss of the sun on my nose and cheeks. Where then shall I turn?

My mind floats away from me, riding the waves to a land unknown.  Perhaps my thoughts have been around the world already.  Perhaps the waters which holds my body so dearly have caressed the bodies of my new friends, my husband of the future, perhaps they have caressed the body of a forbidden lover or more sadly the body of a young child for the last time.  It seems that with each passing moment my fears resurface in a bubble of anxiety and my sadness whisks my mind to another place. A million digressions sweep me away.

At times I do not understand the feelings of my body, and often my much desired solitude becomes the panic of loneliness.  The sea seems my only haven, and the memory of a man, the forbidden lover of my dreams, soothes my soul.  The depths of the abyss no longer bring with them pangs of fear, but rather I feel as though I am allowed to witness new degrees, new layers of a new world.  The colors lap against one another divided unnoticeably, and the warmth then becomes a new chill, a chill which mirrors excitement and caution. The blues and turquoises splay above and the crystal warmth becomes palpable from down below. Only in the dark abyss do my eyes seem to see the beauty above.  I can see all from here yet above I feel. I feel everything in its entirety and with my eyes closed I see much more of what I feel is to come. I fear I know not what I say…

‘The romantic sea of tranquilt’ is the home where I feel connected, and the vision of a man whose life is the sea, carries my heart away with fantasies.  It seems now this is my favored world, yet words can only bring me to the shallow waters of my thoughts, my emotions.  I feel love, a great desirable love here, and my mind becomes disconnected with the reality of land, a new life becomes my reality and with it the power bubbles within me to make this new life mine wholly and completely.  I feel so welcomed here where my only friends are the senses: smell, sound, touch, taste and seeing it all enhances every experience.  I look up to the heavens and cannot believe a personal gift has been bestowed upon me, the gift of La Mer Rouge.


She didn’t exactly know what the hell she was trying to say, what emotions she was trying to portray but she felt so overwhelmed…everything was taking her over and it seemed it was much easier to realize what was going on from 3rd person.  It was so awe-inspiring to think of her one experience in the sea, to remember that when she had seen the man with the tattoo her mind had run away with her.  She imagined his life, his countless love affairs with the mermaids of the sea, and she decided his favorite lover was the one imprinted across his broad shoulders, so seductive with hypnotic eyes and perfectly tousled hair.  She imagined that was how she looked after a night spent with him.  

This man…His life was the sea, a French diver who had no idea that after one meeting he had inspired her beyond explanation. He had inspired her so much she felt everything she had just written in her favored journal were non-sense. She closed the journal after re-reading her personal favorite nonsense and went outside to feel the sun on her face, the same sun she imagined had caressed her on that beautiful day out at sea.  She often visited the memory of that day, going to starbucks and just watching through the window as the white foam of the waves was endlessly supplied to the sand of the desert and sea.  Each wave seemed to refuel her passion even more and as her parents, she figured, often thought she was sad in thought, her mind was going wild, wild with possibilities, crazy with the future unfolding before her.  Her life was going to be bustling with people, with talk and screams, with sounds of cars honking and with passing glances of people as they walked with places to go and people to see.  She could see herself typing her thoughts in a starbucks window, as people hurriedly crossed her hazy line of vision.  Which people would make it into her laptop?  All of them she thought, as they were all part of the huge mass which was London.  

She loved a city which polluted her lungs for it also polluted her thoughts with pungent ideas and inspirations.  She thought ballet and center stage, she thought business and briefcases, she thought rain and romantic kisses…all this would be hers, and as she held the memory of the sea in her heart forever, her mind was taking her body places the sea had never seen, yet somehow the salty waters fueled it all.  She wanted so much contradiction.  She thought of the clubs she might visit, and as she envisioned her laughter and crazy dancing she remembered her short little euro-trip and her carefree laughter and cheering. She became nostalgic of those moments yet still her mind wandered to her ballet classes, the pink slippers the passion in an outstretched arm.  She imagined she would perform on stage and awe an audience, she imagined that as she bowed in emotive sadness an audience member would wipe a tear and as she sprung out and twirled, lifted her head and physically sighed her dreams would be portrayed to all those watching as the very life of her became fluid motions in a rehearsed dance. She thought of the books she would read and the people she would meet and then her heart dropped as the scary idea that all this were an illusion crossed her mind.  She would make this reality…in two days she would begin to prove to herself she were capable of putting her life on any desired track.  Someday her parents could see her on television saving lives, and on stages performing raw emotion, they would read her words and imagine the fire that continuously burns in the heart and soul of their eldest daughter.    


Persuaded by the cry of the gulls, she dipped her toes in the frilly water.  It felt warm upon her skin, warm and inviting so that she was tempted to strip and dive in, imagining the cool feel of the water around her.  Her mind drifted again as it so often did and she brought back the memories of yesterday.  She had seen him for the first time in 2 years.  It was strange, she’d noticed things she’d never noticed about him before, as though noticing for the first time that coral, surprisingly, was not the hard stiff rock it seemed to be outside of its habitat.  How could such a thing go unnoticed?  He’d been working, and knowing what he’d been working toward was another refueling to her own ambitions.  

An architect.  She imagined he’d be meticulous in his designs as he would need to be.  He was the minority in this place in that he had, has rather, a dream.  How painstakingly heartbreaking it had been to discover that so few people in this land had drive, had ambition.  How gut-wrenching to realize that some of these people were people she loved and cared about.  Perhaps the prospect of more schooling was the problem, perhaps the millions of professors were not reaching out to these children.  What then? Move to another place? But the restrictions of culture did not allow such a thing. Her placid

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