Because This Is My First Life: Lake Ontario
I’m sitting on a bench, watching Lake Ontario flirt with the sky. The water is endless and enticing. It flows unapologetically, unbothered by borders or belonging. Soft and strong all at once, it can cradle an entire ship or consume one whole. It can swallow everything and still stay itself.
How lucky, I think, to be water.
It doesn’t crave love.
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It doesn’t ache for home.
It doesn’t know its reflection.
It doesn’t carry shame for needing too much.
It’s the only thing I know that survives without pretending. Without begging and pleading to be seen.
Water, take my blue and let it drown in you. Take my words and let them wade. Let them carve through silence and wear down doors. Let them shout at the right ears. Let them bring me back peace. I’ll wait here until I die. And when I die, let my ashes float on you. Maybe then the sky can finally flirt with me and I can taste what it’s like to be free.
