iselle and julio

there’s something in the air. a change. an eeriness. an energy i can feel and sense and taste.

a hurricane is coming. well, two hurricanes are coming. i feel nervous, a little scared. a little worried, sure. but part of me feels like it’ll pass without a worry, in this bubble of paradise and perfection. it’s like the winds i’m feeling and hearing right now, i’ve felt and heard before. but this seems different. because we know what’s coming. we can see it: on radars and weather channels, on news reports from near and far; in the closing of businesses, the empty shelves where bottled water is usually stocked; in the eyes of people, so nervous, so over-prepared. so intensified by the emotions and paranoia of the locals and the media and the tourists. it saturates the island air.

there is so much going on, in all the people on the island where i’ve kept my heart for the best part of this year. i can feel it. vibrating, pulsating, echoing against the walls of fear built around homes of weatherboard and plaster. on the coast, waiting for the storm. waiting for the rain. waiting for the wind and floods and chaos. waiting for the damage and the fallout and the disaster and the worst.

well what pointless waiting that will be.

weather the storm. it’s wild and wickedly yelling all its secrets in spurts of showers, sun and empty sky. for now.

we wait.

wednesday

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and it fell all over me like glittering sunlight dripping from the sky into the ocean where we lay
so blue
so clear.

and it raced through the millions of roadways and rivers and crevasses and mountains
within me
within you.

and it lay down next to me on a mattress made of memories made of yesterdays and who-knows-when’s
i’m too ready
to dream.

we were separated
by salt water
by space and air
by the centre console of his car.

but we remembered – we never were very good at keeping friends with any of that space between.