The caravan slows to a languid pace. Like a mirage, time disappears. Appears. Disappears again. Contrition hangs heavy on his neck He should have known better. He missed being caressed by the ocean’s arms Preternatural elements Gently guiding the dinghy on open waters. He clings to the delicious tonic like lichen latched on a …
The benign tumour sidles over the ledge, peers down Billowing gusts of oxygen, an archipelago of organs, Thrashing tides of emotion on the cellular coasts Is it consternation or frisson? Histrionics or loneliness? Resignation or acceptance? The marauder quivers cowardly and retreats. Now is not the time. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he’ll make the leap. Benign – not harmful; …