Tonight, I wonder how the sea is doing. I haven’t seen it in two months, despite it being just a few kilometers away. Are the waves crashing into the rocky barrier struggling to climb up to see where the people went? Is the sea moaning in pain, longing for the voices of the children who used to run across its shore? Peace, a little sense of peace I can feel. Somewhere within me Outside me. It is so gentle, I amcareful not to talk about it toomuch or it might disintegrate into thedarknessof thisnight. Tonight is different. I miss marking my calendar. On this night, maybe, calendars don’t matter anymore. Does the sea have a calendar? It follows the moon, I suppose. Simply, like that. Maybe we don’t need to clutter our calendars. Learn from the sea. I haven’t seen the horizon: my muse, in a while now. When I look at the horizon I would wonder why the faraway lights are on when there is no one in the streets. Lights onwith no one there is like lights off when everyone is there: unsettling. When I look at the horizon I usually ponder what people are doing on the other end. Except now. Everyone knows what everyone is doing,
what they have done, and what they will do.
I usually look at the horizon while I am by the sea. Maybe now they struck a deal and fused together, when no one by sight, into an endless color of nothing and everything. I imagine it would stretch, as one tall monument,
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