And the ship sets sail

I can feel the sea under me. I find myself moving to the incessant flow of it. The colors of the sea bounce off me, reflecting its many moods in my eyes. The salt enters my pores and parches my soul. I feel dehydrated in the middle of a vast, unending water mass. My eyes dry up looking for something, anything, other than the unending gallons of water surrounding me. The quietness of this vast water body makes me alive to the choppy turning of tides inside of me. I long for some silence inside of me. And when a storm breaks out on the water, and I am lunged to great heights in a roller coaster motion, the vapidity of my inner resolve solidifies and anchors me to stability. There are times when I feel one with the water, always in motion but heading nowhere. I want to not stay still and yet not reach anywhere. It is the journey that gives me a faint hope, as the day turns to night and then peels off the darkness to yet again emerge into day, the only testimony of the fact that I live.  The solitude inside me is juxtaposed against the vastness of the aqua land. It makes me, the alone me, feel slighted and then, even more ‘all alone’. But deep inside the recesses of me, where nothing else seeps in, I have this nagging fear of having become so tidal in my existence, that I am land-sick, of having salt deposited on my soul to the extent that fresh air and water will obliterate it, of having become so used to only me that I am sealed to all else…that I now want to go on without leaving behind any footprints…I want to go on only on the sea, with the sea inside of me.