Waves licking at my ankles

~griekspoor

An Americano, bartender--no, just tonic water. Old habits.

I've been sailing, spending time in bars other than this. Or drinking alone. Mostly alone. It's been almost two years since I set foot in here. I wasn't anywhere far, Bimini and about there, fishing. And fighting, when I could find someone to fight with.

Can't recall why I left. I mean why I left land. Stories, I think, that carried me. Life wasn't great, I thought, but when I came back there was pain and loss waiting for me. Even worse. My sandals weren't even dry. Knocked me off my feet. Not the first wave, but the ones after that. Three waves, four, maybe more than I saw. Eventually, one knocked me down.

I stopped drinking then, or right before then. Didn't realize how that would feel, what the pain would be like with nothing to dull it. It was then that I found out that I hadn't been living at all. Dull, half-experienced. It's not life. It's better without the dulling, even though I can't believe I'm saying it. Give me the pain, let me go through it, otherwise why live?

Anyway, I'm glad to be back. On land, that is. This place, I'm glad it's still here too.

You all look good. Not like the cover of a magazine, but like the faces in a country store a hundred miles from the city. And you're looking at me like I'm not from these parts. Don't blame you, I'm not. Enjoy your drinks, I'll be over here thinking.