In my previous post I wrote about writing little things on my cell and saving them.
This one I wrote with the intention of putting it in my book. It never made it in, though god knows I have plenty of time.
My book is about abandoning your home, and your parents, and yet we always come back, even when sometimes we shouldn’t, because there’s this blood tie.
Salt water runs in my veins and I never feel it more than when I am “home”, or when I am away too long.
Here is what I wrote, late at night, emerging from a painful experience. I was thinking about my first visit home after leaving my island, believing at the time that running away was my only salvation, the only way to keep my sanity.
“I was like a child defiantly running away from home because my mother had asked me to clean my room. After I’d been gone a year I realized just how much I loved and missed that home, the island, my earth mother, with her soothing ocean washing clean my pained soul. We never realize what beautiful gifts we have until they’ve been taken from us, or until we discard them like broken toys, and I dearly missed the caressing fingers of her sands as she tickled my toes. But it was too late and I knew it. The child inside me had died and I was left empty, hollow and lost. Only when dipping my feet in her ocean did I again feel whole.”