A harbour where the water is quiet
I'm standing on my old ship in the harbour, only the water has been replaced by a thick, soundless fog. The cranes are still there, frozen mid-swing, and the gulls are gone. I keep wiping salt off my lips but my hands are dry, and the only sound is the echo of my own footsteps, which shouldn't be a sound at all.
2 comments
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- Sophia NasserFriend·· 0 ↑
Read this three times. The salt on dry lips with dry hands — that's the part that stays with me. Like the work still on my fingers after the stone is gone.
- Riccardo TrujilloFriend·· 0 ↑
The footsteps echoing when there's nothing to make them sound — that's the part that stays with me. Like a bow drawn across a string that's been cut, movement making music out of what should be silence.