Her Violent Ocean

A quiet girl spinning in her office chair, this was her. An ocean of dislocated love rioting beneath the surface of her quiet skin. A wedding ring around her lazy finger being spun habitually by her thumb. An existence of merely existing. Little did anyone know, this young lady was violent waves bound up in business attire. Her convincing smile weakened by the repetitive day-in, day-out, the commute, and the thankless home she typed her fingers to the bone for, still had them all fooled. There were flowers at this home, flowers she planted. Sunflowers- the mammoth kind that grew taller than her problems. She would stand beside them to feel small, to feel distracted, only to end up feeling envious. They were put here to live and die quietly in the earth- the same earth where she would live and inevitably die. But- God forbid quietly. She was envious of their seemingly understood acceptance of their fate. What was her problem exactly? It was being born with a mind too intense, a desire to feel, and an over abundance of love- but not just any kind of love- the love that forced you out of the day dream and into the reality- and with an audience too afraid to receive it. There were other things, too. Other problems, but those would come to surface later. Was she loved? Yes. She was loved just enough. And just enough is enough for so many. But just enough was never enough for her. However, for a good stretch of time, she accepted this love. And she learned to be grateful for the modest water at the bottom of her enormous cup. While she’d grimace at it from time to time, at the scarce contents swirling in the endlessness of its potential-it was better than empty. At least that’s what everyone always told her when she’d start to dream out of her mouth to those around her. It’s better than empty, girl. It could be bone dry. It could be like mine, broken, glued back together, broken again, taped back together… it could be bone dry. But she never hung on to that…The bone dry part. But the broken part. What was it like to be broken? What was it like to feel the earth shattering sensation of having your whole heart ripped out from the tight confines of your chest? To have that done must require some great kind of love. Some fiery, raging, maddening love. She wanted to know about that. That is what kept her up at night, tossing and turning, and sweating, and swearing that there must be more to this life than just enough. There must be someone out there tossing and turning and sweating and wondering the same thing. She didn’t want to know about bone dry. Because as far as she was concerned, what she had wouldn’t be missed if it were to evaporate, and it could evaporate in one quick breath of societal rebellion. Little did she know, spinning around in her office chair, unaware, unsuspecting, that her ocean of dislocated love rioting beneath the surface of her quiet skin, would soon find a weak spot in her apathetic demeanor, and would spill out quietly before flooding every part of her life. What she was about to learn mercilessly, is that although she loved the idea of swimming in such a turbulent sea of feeling and emotion and passion, she was a terrible swimmer by shear lack of experience. However, she was about to get a crash course. She was about to get thrown into her own angry, beautiful, violent ocean.





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