Every morning there would be the crashing of waves. The lachrymose sea’s unrest and the coarse sand. The bluff would be terribly high. The city life moving by.

March 11, 2011

An eruption of water arises and expels. The bravado of the cantankerous tsunami intimidates. The colors blend together and the boldness of the navy crashes with the stormy gray-white. My life flashes before me and everything is put in slow-motion. This feeling I cannot construe. The screams of terror and the cruelty of the cries are put in action again. Instead of running for no reason, I sit and wait for harsh and oncoming death. A paroxysm of grief still overwhelms me. When I go to my watery death, I will hear the laughs and shrieks of my neighborhood. I will remember the ups and downs, the ebbs and flows until it all drowns out. Until my life unravels. Until everything will sound like the delicate melody of a distorted piano underwater.