la mer et l'amour

Brazil, the year forgotten. The sun is rising. 

The ocean longs for her beloved moon but she has already gone down. The sun has taken her place and the water finds no comfort in him.

She remains cold in memory of her beloved. Immemorial is this routine, long overrun and overshot and overused. That won't stop the ocean as her heart pulses evenly for the moon. 

The ebb of the contraction and the flow of the release, water rushing over sand in pursuit of the moon, her heart pouring out with it. All the water gets is sand, shells, and the cold feet of a human staring at a Brazilian sunrise. 

It's the day after a wedding. It's too cold for summer. It's not summer in Brazil.

They're going home tonight, another twenty four hours of travel before they're even back in the United States. They mind it but they don't care anymore.

Travel always hurts them more than anyone else. They don't want to look into why.

They stare at the sea and feel the melancholy heartbeat wash over their feet. They too can feel the want for a beloved. A want that will have to wait three planes, two airports, three taxis, and a short walk.

The moon and the ocean will only have to wait a few hours.

All three would wait forever, if they had to, for the slightest moment with their beloved again.

Twenty four hours. Sunrise to sunset. A lifetime and a grain of sand in an hourglass. A beloved's arms reach out, halfway across the world.

Love: Immemorial.