A garden. Pocketed with strawberries. Overshadowed by monstrous magnolias. A mindless walk can lead one to the sudden drop, the ragged edge of a cliff. Rock is sedimented in layer after layer, into the rushing ocean water, wave after wave smacks the rock, just as Samuel had smacked the surface of the ocean. Gosh, his twinkling aquamarine eyes could bring me into a different state of mind. That garden, with its promising relaxation, never ending breeze, could make me cry. My tears never made it down my cheeks- always blown away. Perpetual motion. Grass always leaning to one side or the other. I felt like being lifted off of the ground and falling slowly off the edge. This place could no longer be what it used to be. What did it used to be? My tears won’t let me find out. Remembering isn’t enough.
(side note: I wrote this two years ago in December. I found it while flipping through my old journal. It surprised me because I didn’t remember writing it.)