Since You

The monster came back today, reared its ugly gnashing teeth and tore through my insides. I sat in an armchair in her living room (you know the one, from IKEA that I always liked, I'd make you stop and sit in it with me on the show room floor) and tried to keep from tears while my hands shook uncontrollably. There were no drugs, no drinks, no magical potions to soothe the burning tide, but we packed our bags. The tram came up behind us and we ran to catch it. When we slowed for the last stop, I smiled.

A hundred times I've walked that path, a thousand. It curves around a cliff, bores into a bit of grass and then you're at the top, with nothing but open sea and sail boats and sunshine in your lungs. I ran down to the water's edge, let my shoulder rest against sun-warmed, smooth rock. We took our clothes off instantly, she said the water was cold but I knew it would be perfect. Two steps and you're in.

The ocean is salty, real salt water between my teeth, I feel my skin crackle and my eyebrows turn white. Seaweed between my toes. Dive under the surf and everything is quiet, everything is clear. The body adjusts to the cool temperatures; it comes alive. I laughed and told her nothing had made me this happy in a long time and it wasn't untrue. The monster curls its tail and retreats to the last dark corner in the back of my spine. Not gone. But not stronger than the pull of the tide in my flesh.