Our Nowhere Ocean, or the Coincidences of Sand, or simply 'the ocean' was the connected body of loss that covered the majority of the temporal surface. The ocean moderated the continent’s regret and had important roles in the afterlife cycle. Although the Nowhere Ocean was traveled and explored since prehistory, the modern scientific study of dispossession dates broadly to West Amphitrite.
Insolvency in the open ocean was generally located in a narrow band around the incarnate continents, though it may have proceeded to more landlocked waters, near the mouths of large rivers, or at great depths as well. Owing to the present state of chronological drift, the history of continents was fairly equally divided between land and sea (a ratio of about 2:3), however the coasts of Amphitrite were overwhelmingly oceanic. This was due to the friction of waves, produced by craving and by withdrawal, and changes in local erosion, produced by the forces of grating and decay. The direction of this movement was almost certainly governed by surface and submarine landmasses or by the sequential rotation of the temporal surface (the water wheel effect).
Further studies of the Nowhere Ocean have established that not all abandonment was restricted to the surface waters, even under enormous depths and pressures, dissolution streaming from remote or unknown hydro emotional vents was capable of supporting its own unique ecosystem Many have suggested that the continents and their inhabitants may have first evolved in this voided ether, slowly increasing in density and,consistency, until their coincidences were common enough to form a chronology from nothing again.
Dear Jillison,
I said I would write you a letter. What is here since you left? Some days are like hummingbirds in plastic bags and some have some have been so long and flat they may as well have been laid out on a stretcher. Every one I thought of you at some point or another.
I've told you this before I want to tell you again because it is true and I still believe it. I came to these continents to meet you. You gave me new names for every sense. You were sewn into every calendar entry, your crossed spine was my chronology. Some days I could even tell what you were doing.
I know we met between lives. Maybe those are the only kinds of stages there are or should be. Fingertips searching and falling over themselves It might not have always seemed unexplored, and sometimes the trails were insincere, but it was terrain. I felt like I knew you. Under my eyes and with every second and synapse, I thought I knew you.
I think of you often. I go over things I could have done differently. I try to remember it's not always about what I could or couldn't do.
Where are we now then? A lot of it is scar tissue and worn territory or too much of everything and nothing over and over again. Long past past due with a map that still got folded wrong. I know what nostalgia is, it’s a kind of camouflage people cover themselves in when the present tense has become a trap. I know it's a form of depression. I know we didn't get here by accident.
More often than not we weren't good to each other or for each other. Everything was scraped under the skin and always pinned to the sharpest pitch. I know after a while every answer started to sound the same.
It always felt like something else was a wall in front of us, or we were both incomplete or not careful enough with each other. You made me feel so used and insignificant so many times I couldn't imagine letting you back here again. To keep going would've been to sit and stare at a ceiling and watch it crash down.
Am I still angry? Am I still confused? Look at all this past I emptied out for you. It was a nowhere ocean I knew by heart. It was a nowhere ocean I hung over all the old clothes you left behind. It was a nowhere ocean, and I watched you drown a bridge to bury it.
Still, Jillison. You were my life, the center I rotated around whenever I thought about anything. There was a little picture of you pushing around every neuron and next guess. I am still learning how to let you go. How to let let that strange-hold pulse and stop motion exhale go.
I've avoided you not because I don't care about you or because I think we will fight. There's still a part of me that wanted to escape with you, be with you in a way we never were and will never be. It’s not right, it’s not a moveable part, it’s still an open wound for me. Knowing where you are now and all the places I'll never be with you. I'm not ready for the reconstruction site. I don't think I will be for a while Jillison. It's not that I don't want be around you. I can still see the red scarred arm you wore when the continent caught up to you. It still feels so raw and far away at the same time.
Do I think we will ever be close again? Jillison. No. You left me here. You chose to leave me here.
Look at the undertow. You find the prognosis for casualty. You tell me it came from nowhere and then it was waiting for us, still on time, another recovery again. You can’t. You pick up portions to sleep inside of you, but I’m still here, I can still see the slope of bones showing.
Jillison. If you last there, keep it. Nobody told you to put the hooks in the clouds. Nobody told you to go. If you had to leave to survive, then survive. I will make my own way out. Pale cuts through a coiled place. Don’t underestimate the landfalls I have left to use. Don’t underestimate the entire ocean I already pulled apart in place of you.
No comments:
Post a Comment