Babies in the process of being born sound like the ocean.
"I’m going over to the island to try to convince my friends baby to enter the world. She seems to be too comfortable on the inside."
He paused and looked at me. “The world is a fucking awful place. That is a smart baby.”
You’re right my friend. Your world right now is a fucking awful place.
Public service announcement. There is a woman in this cafe reading her book with a HEADLAMP. Apparently the floor to ceiling windows are not enough for her.
I feel like only in Canada would someone be regularly equipped with a headlamp for urban lighting emergencies.
"I’ll take you to the ocean. Any time you want, I will drive you to a beach. We can swim, or cry, or scream. Or everything."
This is what I said to her. I put my hand on her elbow and these were my words because there was absolutely nothing else that I could do.
I will take you to the beach and I will plunge into the icy water beside you. I will bring towels and hot tea to warm you up. I will cry with you. I will let you scream until you are hoarse and then I will scream for you. I will rip my throat out when you can’t. I will drive you to the ocean again and again until you can no longer tell the difference between tears on your face and salt water on your skin.
I will do this because I cannot do anything else. I will do this because there is nothing else but the promise of salt and fleeting moments of hope on the breeze.