God if I could live next to the ocean, and the woods, if I could hear the roar of the waves and the howl of the wind, if I could stand on a rock that jutted out into the sea, and feel the spray on my face, then I would be happy.
If I could stretch my body like a sail and take the buffeting and bruising of the wind. If I could have the years that have been made to hang on my face blasted away with fine grains of sand, where my checks tightened in the salty air, and my blue eyes reflected the sea. And once again I was made young. I would be happy.
A part of my soul craves the wild abandon at the edge of the world. The place where thunderstorms bring ragged raging waves higher and higher and slap them down like a gambler’s empty shot glass is slammed against some forgotten bar in the old west.
And at night I would be so worn out from the day, that I would fall fast asleep in a bed so soft in dreams so deep I could reach Atlantis and walk among the ruins and carry the lost souls trapped in ruins of sunken ships to heaven.
God, I would be so happy at that place at the edge of forever.
Tell me such a place exists and take me my hand and lead me there.
Where do you live?