5 in the morning, and this is what I’m thinking

I am running out of the woods. The trees have turned to shadows clawing at me in the dark. Their roots spring from the dirt and reach for me as I stagger to the clearing, out of breath, my bare feet burying themselves in the sand. The air is colder than I anticipate. Suddenly shorts have become a mistake, but it doesn’t matter. I look around. I see the beach in front of me, the woods behind me, and nothing else.

Slowly I step towards the water. The sand is chilled and sinks in between my toes. It’s the sand you dream about on a hot summer day when your feet are screaming, crossing the searing beach.

I am near the water, and the waves are quiet. They lap on the shore with consistency, but when the seasons change and it becomes fall they sound different. Summer waves are optimistic. Even on rainy days they are warm and inviting. Isn’t this beautiful? Stay.

Fall waves are a goodbye. Cold and slow, they roll onto the sand and cling to it, hauled mournfully back out to sea by the next wave catching its last moment in the spotlight. Don’t let me go.

A leaf falls in the woods. Stay.

I sit on the edge of the water, and the waves claw at me like the branches in the woods had done.

I let my knees fall and stretch my legs into the water. It soaks through my shorts and seeps its way up to my sweatshirt. The water is cold and uncomfortable. I look around again; the beach is quiet. Where are you?

A wave rolls up slowly, slapping at my leg with the strength of a ghost. I watch the water get dragged away, assimilated into the waves behind it. Again and again the cold water wears at me.

I am sitting in the water with by back towards the woods. I want to call the bunny, but can’t. I don’t know his name.

Luciana, 24