i awoke. the grey light of morning, still and serene, the sound of gulls flying overhead. i lie still, not awake, not asleep, alive. i move my jacket, it was lying over me to keep me warm during the night. my hat pulled down tight, to keep warmth in, irritates me now, i pull it up and off my head, the chill hits my sweated brow, i wince at the change of temperatures and wonder why i decided to try and achieve comfort. comfort, i have not known in a long time. a different life perhaps, a continuing existence. a dream. a tale i tell myself. the boat rocks gently as the breakers push it, the tide must have come in. the wood of the deck is damp, i can taste the mould in the air. i look to the grey sky. i lie. i watch the clouds change shapes, become the shapes of things i hardly remember. i remember my mum holding my hand as we looked out to sea. we went to see the sea. that sentence causes a laugh, one like a stuttering motor trying to get started. my lungs hurt. they have for a while. everything hurts. i need to pee, i don’t want to move. it trickles out, no longer the gushing streams of youth. i lie. i think about her face, but i can no longer tell if it was real or i have built a memory of what i desired. what i desire now more than anything is peace. peace. when i was young i imagined the whole world was mine, it was never mine. it was never yours. it was stolen from us, long ago. do you remember those dreams of youth? the dreams where it was possible. everything was possible, how young and stupid we were. i move, trying to lie further into the musty wood. i reach into my pockets. not for anything but just as a routine. nothing but sand and a couple of shells. i don’t know what i expected to find. i am sure there is some metaphor about the sands of time, mine has definitely run through. my breathing hurts. everything hurts. i put my hat on top of my forehead, not quite on but enough to stop the chill on my forehead.
i lie
quiet disconnection 