The Waterfront
February 26, 2010
Here is the place where water meets rock.
The shore, where a father helps his daughter search for crabs scurrying between the rocks. I see them as I run by.
They say that water has memory. No wonder then, that I should have memories of water.
While celebrating on the eve of the arrival of his new baby girl my friend asks if I am close to my father. I shake my head, no. “I want to have a better relationship with him, but I don’t know how to ask for one.”
He smiles, “Probably just like that.”
I don’t tell him my greatest fear. What if I ask and he says no? What if I remain the Christmas and Birthday daughter? What if all the years that have passed since we hunted for crabs amidst the rocks are thicker than the blood we share?
I see them; father and daughter, and I run by. My feet carry me as fast as they can go. Until, here at the place where past meets present, memory meets reality and water meets rock I can run no faster, no further.
you are loved. You are love.
No matter if at water’s edge or land’s end. you are loved.