An Empty Coffee Cup

Me and mum are sitting at our computers, both dodgedly typing at this, well, unrespectable hour. She had a cup of coffee, I had none. Oh look, she's just come online. I wonder why.

Perhaps it is some charm of the night, some groggy persuasion of the darkness that causes me to feel the way I do now. This vulnerability, this placing of cards on the table is unheard of in the daytime. But now, I feel a release like a cold wind, as if I could whisper my thoughts to the darkness outside and they would float into non-existance. The tragic beauty of being alone and untracable appeals and beckons, and I could hang my head back and let the night take me away along with my secrets. Just a gust, a quick tug, I tell myself. The wind whistles assent. I'll come home by daylight. I want to visit the sea, with it's wry, intriguing attempts at attention. I can't help myself. The day I stepped into the glistening turquoise liquid was the day I was completely sold. It was Saturday that I watched a sunset, floating in the crystal clear water and could have died a happy woman. Let's marry me a sailor, Jack Sparrow style.

Don't Close Your Eyes.

Suddenly, my heart dares. I dare to miss, dare to break, dare to dance in the sand that feels cold between my toes. It's a delicious feeling that takes off from the soles of my feet, and I spread my arms like a thirsty child. A freedom I've never felt before takes over, and I want to holler. I want to tell the echoes my secrets instead of holding them near me where it aches.

I miss you so much.

You're the only chance I'll take.

Praise the Lord, O My Soul. Dance.