Say, Without the Drama

Levels and levels of insobriety . . . down, down, blank. Up again. Another morning. High waves, tossing and tossing. Our sails do not fear the water. They’re quickdry. It wasn’t such a sad good-bye. Was only the oceans where I’m off to anyhow. Pieces of lands in the middle of big storms. The waves again, tossing big boats as though only playthings.

Every morning I wake up to the smell of salt, of heat, of winds . . . I am home where the horizon never changes . . . just the sea and the sky. Nobody knows me here. Maybe another sailor once in while stops by for a drink or two–no, never just that. Drinks. We drink until the sky becomes the sea and lightnings start to flash out of the waters. Then we wait for the moon. We wait until the mermaids sing with us. We laugh. Those mermaids can’t sing our songs. They’re always out of tune, like some vocalist from a trip-hop band.
The sun reminds me of you. Harsh. Around here, without the clouds, we hate the sun. But after big storms, it’s always welcomed. But never for long. Ultraviolet rays. Cancer. Tanning? High consumerism. Good thing we brought good shades with us. I’ve always loved the moon more. The vampires, the werewolves–more interesting creatures if you must ask me. They visit me sometimes. They never get to consuming me though. I kept my stash of rum, whiskey, and scotch safe. If they kill me, no more drinks for them. Blood becomes monotonous after some centuries, they say. But alcohol–it always gets better with time. Always. They offered me immortality too. I only scoffed at the idea. I’m a humanitarian too. Unfortunately, I know people who lives under the sun. But I still hate the sun. Yes, even if every day it can’t wait to shine on me, with that huge grin across its face. The sun loves me still even if I curse it sometimes.