“Everyday I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one mad. I have such a desire to do everything, my head is bursting with it.” 
― Claude Monet

Dearest Zimri,

My dreams as of late have centered around birthing children, though not directly. Maybe not even indirectly, but my thoughts being what they are, I’m led to infusing embryones into the mix. I’m sharing this because I didn’t wake up feeling so well. I’ve been nauseous, dizzy, lethargic and with the initial symptoms of a cold that never seem to progress into anything more than an irritating cough. It all goes away within a day, so I tell myself I’m in remission, and to hold things down for just another few years. It continues on this way without end in sight, in order that death remain invisible until final approach.

Please forgive the darkness. It’s visiting with me a little longer than usual, but I suspect the longer I take care of it, the more prepared it will be to take leave and tend to itself without me. I want you to know that it’s only because of you I’m caring for it, and attempting to convert it into something lighter.

Do you remember the time you wrote, not knowing what to write, but asking me to hold on and keep hope? You referenced a verse from the Bible, and at the time, it angered me. Everything I’d hoped for was wrapped so tightly in the ribbons of prayer that I’d become the strangler of my own voice box.

Words had become arch-enemies and all that fell upon my eyes felts like daggers to my heart. While I tended to blood that wasn’t there my movements slowed to a frozen crawl as the reality of my beating heart refused to warm me.

Still, I had strength to confiscate your words, get up and run, because of all the words I stumbled over and between, they were the most timidly written. And the kindest.

When I stopped running, I looked back as all of the letters faded, and the backdrop of our communications became a Monet. Your words became for me, a boat in the middle of unclear waters, but I pushed it to shore because I didn’t understand why I wanted to make love to a boat. I began walking and examining seashells, hoping you would join me. Missing your presence, I turned back as day turned to night, then back to day again. When I returned to the place you were, you had gone back into the water to retrieve something.

I’m writing because I can’t see you anymore yet still feel you, everywhere and nowhere at all. It aches to want to make love to the ocean but not know how.

I hope you are successful on your journey. Realizing my time here may be finished should you come back to this place, I wanted to ensure you would always have a peaceful and loving space to hear me, so I have built a home constructed of seashells for the day of your return.

I am always with you wherever your heart leads you to wander.

Loving You Across All Oceans and Lands,

Seashells are love letters in the sand 
~ Anonymous ~