Silence when I wake up
He's working
Silence when I bring home food
His stomach hurts
Silence when I rush to work
He's tired
Silence when I rush home for lunches
He's napping
Silence when I leave again
I've left so many of the chores for him
Silence when I am at work
He's napping again
Silence when I come home
He needs a break
Silence when they eat dinner
He needs a break
Silence when they go to bed
He needs a break
Silence when they've been asleep
He needs a break
I am alone, pumping my arms through the ocean, day and night. A novel for a brain, narrated to the inside of my skull. A secret logbook that verifies to only me all the challenges, victories, guilts, fears, enthusiasm, ideas, goals, and interests.
One day, if I drown, will my mind be squished down into a bottle, corked, and washed up on a shore somewhere I never had the time or money to go?
Will the person who reads it, years, generations, ages from now, be the person I have been hoping for, the person who will see me, accept me, love who I was, so many years, generations, ages before?
Or will I float into the great pacific garbage patch and contribute my hopes and passions to the toxicity of the ocean.
