Your Loud

I stood on the sea shore, caressing a canister of tea. The waves pulled the sand back towards the ocean. I could feel the urgency of it in my stomach. The rhythm was relentless, mirrored in the way the wind shook me. I clutched the edges of my wool sweater, lowering myself onto a log. I ached with a tuat strength, a fragile strength. My feet were bare and cold. I raised my chin into the wind, challenging it. My sweater stretched petulantly around my fists, I kicked the sand. 

“You're very loud today.”

“I haven't said a thing.” I hissed, kicking the sand again. 

“Yet, you are loud.”   

“The sea isn’t supposed to speak at all.”  I grumbled. 

“I am not the sea. You wouldn”t understand the sea’s language. You have a big inside for a human, but not that big.” I frowned. “You look cold.” A deep warmth, hidden under the cold, flooded into my bones. “You look sad.” I felt my shoulder tingle, it was a small delicate tingle. “I am sorry. I can’t do anything about that.” 

“I don’t want you to take away my sadness. And I didn’t want you to take away my cold.” Slowly, I released my sweater sleeves, burrowing a foot under the sand.  

“You humans are strange creatures.” We sat awhile, staring at the sea. I took a sip of my tea.

“I wish I could drink tea.” 

“You’re still here?” 

“Yes. I enjoy your quiet almost as much as your loud. Both are deep, and just a little bit bitter.”  

“You can taste my quiet?”

“And your loud.” There was a short silence. “I don’t know if taste is the right word.”

I took another sip of tea. “I think it might be.”