STRUMS OF MY GUITAR

I raise a toast to our happy memories,

Pluck a purple wildflower,

Place it behind my ear,

I think of you and strum.

I let my curls loose,

Lay down on the shore,

Wait for the ebb to spit the saline water,

Making my body shudder.

I sway, my lips quiver and I clasp my shoulders, not letting go.

I make a sandcastle, digging my hands into the soil,

I suddenly wish it was quicksand, like my mind.

Drowning, gasping for breath.

I dive into the sea,

The tides pushing against my body,

The brackish water forcing me to vent.

I was wrestling the torrent,

Then, I gave up.

Drenched, 

I return. 

Gently pluck the strings,

Think of you and strum.

-Stoic Writer