The Rawest Version of Completely Incomplete

The salty breeze whispers sweet,

Cold feet and waves declare the myth. Tangled hair—it’s just the air,

Pretty loud, yet laced with doubt.

Loud, but it’s not me,

It’s the same old me.

Long time, no see.

She isn’t discovering—

Mostly recovering.

Oh sea, it’s the finesse you weave—

Fading thoughts, same old quotes.

On a random day,

A fleeting say.

There exists a place,

Soon to cradle all my traces.

With grace, I chase,

Found it in a season—

A season unknown.

The lost “ho, ho, ho,”

Brewed hot chocolate,

A freezing room—not too late.

I’ll return,

Rarely or often,

With the same mate.

Some might stay,

While others find their gray.

Regardless of the day,

Waves crash against the cliff—

And you’ll find me there,

My stillness, a paradox adrift,

While I search for myself within.

I search as the tide pulls,

Its waves whispering the truth—

That I am both still and moving,

Rooted in the sea,

Yet ever adrift.

Heart planted,

Stories unfurled.

Her story began there,

A smogged mask unraveled bare.

This recovery will turn to discovery soon—

In the noon,

Not so pruned,

With the tune.

For there will always be

Waves to carve my path,

Sand to trace my steps,

And me—forever drawn to the sea.

For in the drifting waves,

My being rhythmed,

Absence rifted.

In the sea, I become whole,

Pretty sure, never finished.