Miss Adventure


“Skip to my Lou pretty lady” it was still funny even though he said it every single day. He’s my skipper and I’m the first mate. So naturally I’m Lou. Saturday came quick as I anxiously anticipated our alone time. It was our first day without passengers in two weeks and life felt like a vacation. A staycation. An even keel. On our boat. Just us. Us and water. There was nothing around as far as we could see. Nothing but us. There was nothing else to be concerned with. Just us. Me and my skipper. The Skip to my Lou.

That moment I knew we had something. Something that would inevitably end but we were in the thick of it. We swam every day. He like to sing. He couldn’t sing well but it sounded beautiful to me. All it took was eye contact. Eye contact ignited us. Our zone, our world, our universe. I attempted to contain our world. Which currently consisted of the yacht.

He dropped the anchor. In the midst of the extreme calmness he whispered in my ear “come closer.” I played hard to get for all of five seconds. He knew better, but it was fun to pretend I didn’t want him. Besides, why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t we? I had a vision of our situation before I left London. Maybe it was a premonition or a dream! Regardless, my imagination wouldn’t allow me to let this moment go. On top of that, if I’m brave what should I be afraid of?

The wind blew pretty hard. His American flag and my Union Jack flapped viciously side by side in the zephyr. He moved my hair out of my face. We didn’t speak for a while. It was the loudest and most comfortable silence I’ve ever shared with my skip. Only the birds drifting by could know the freedom I felt in that moment. Sweat was the glue that kept us stuck together. The pitch in sync with our breathing.

There is no feeling like freedom. Having no where to be or no one looking for me. I wonder what he’s thinking about. I hope he’s thinking about me. Then the interruption of the thoughts I was lost in, “What’s your favorite color?”

I turned to look him in his eyes, “green.”

“Mine too.”

And with those two words he sealed the deal.

Dream #7


It’s hot as hell and humid too.

Is it ok not to be okay?

Should I believe you?

I threw the signal in the air and waited

by the beach for the hero.

What good will a selective savior

do for someone in my condition?

I crave consistence.

Yet I listen to my conscious.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The tide rises with the disappointment

I attempt to hide.

It’s two o’clock.

Where did he go?

Where is the hero?!

Turtles nesting, bringing life.

My mind is racing, my body resting.

Time to refocus.

Hoping for the hero is hopeless.

I suck it up,

digging my hands in the sand.

Sitting in thought stirring it up

like sugar in the bottom of sweet tea.

The tide has arrived.

I’m ankles deep in it.

Is this how insanity feels?

Maybe the hero stopped believing.

Is he on the other side of this ocean grieving?

Perhaps the hero grew tired of being great,

and lost all his magic.

Or he ignored my sign,

and saved someone else…

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

7:52 or eight to you.

I may starve waiting to be fed.

Could this be my epiphany?

I’m done believing.

Sometimes hope isn’t enough.

Now is the time to depend on me.

Dream #6

I closed my eyes and I fell.

At first I rolled.

Then I began to bounce.

Before I knew it I was free falling.

Or maybe I was floating?

I’m not sure how, why, or when,

but eventually I came to a full stop.

I crashed right into you.

You stood firmly attached to the ground,

as if you owned it. No renting.

No hurricane, tornado, or earthquake

could shake you. You smelled of man.

I felt stronger than ever before

simply standing next to you.

After all that I’d been through

I was more appreciative

than I ever imagined I would be.

Standing next to you.

Silence shrieked between the two of us.

We were the only ones around.

Words weren’t necessary just brown eye language.

We stood in a comfortable silence

for centuries until you closed your eyes.

Once they opened again they were green.

You changed. But that’s life and that’s love.

And then you inquired, “Where to next?”

So I answered, “Where we begin.”

And stillness was our move.




Things Are The Same

When I stopped chasing logic I realized everyone is just like me. Crying out collectively they could not be heard. The loud voices are equal to mental screams. No one hearing a peep. No one listening. Even if they heard they would never understand.

In that moment it hit me. Things stay the same. When you leave home and return again things are the same. Maybe a new shopping center on a previously empty corner, or dishes in the sink from the children or a spouse. For the most part things stay the same.

Especially when people die. No example paints a picture of the point like death. People leave things right where they were as if they were coming back to them. Tooth brush and toothpaste prepared on the bathroom counter. Even the television remote left in the designated spot ready to fill a quiet room with sound and color. We change but things stay the same. IMG_2373