I stand upon an ocean, and rain peels over my skin.

Where that from above bleeds into what is below. I stand upon an ocean, and rain peels over my skin. Caught between earth and sky.

A name? Well, what's in a name? It was never mine, and it should never be mine. It was bestowed, or forced - to claim it would be to cling to a lie. Besides, what use is a name for nothing? That which I have become. That which I am.

Forgotten from life and time, I walk to the edge of the sea. The weight is such a burden. To shake it off would be relief, but to lose it would leave me empty.

A dark voice coils, twisting into command, jump. But I ask, for what purpose? What if it were to be the same? What if it should not be escape, but prison? Am I trading one cage for another? What use would drowning serve if it all leads back to this? An ocean beneath another sky, a greater weight to bear?

I stand and I watch the light bleed away. Perpetuated, a sentinel - always dawn and dusk at either end of me. Always noise and hollow silence. Let it be day, for purpose and positivity. Or let it be night, a sanctuary for rest. Why must I settle for the in-between? The twilight space, the liminal grey - a place of cold and dim and pain, tired from sleep, with eyes burned by tears. A liftless weight, a choke-hold from a broken hand. Wordless breaths, yet I am shrieking.

Fuck this! Fuck pain and weight and tears and silence! Give me rage! Give me love! Give me freedom! I am on my knees, give me life! I was promised! Let my bonds tear and snap! Grant my sweet release, unbind these shackles! Hear me and my primal heart!

Still it grasps my words and swallows. Feel this. Bear this weight. Jump. Drown. There is nothing else. You were born for the silence, for the agony, for broken skin and withered hands. You were made to suffer. Drink your tears and be still. Suffer poison if it should lessen you. Be small, be reduced. There is nothing else.

I stand upon an ocean, and rain peels over my skin. There is a grey ceiling and a setting sun. I am small. I am afraid. There is nothing here but me and them, the words I cannot whisper. I carry a world that is dying, and I feel my back about to break.

I come to crave the silence. Is it mistaken for peace? Should I love the screams instead?

Have I mistaken pain for a kiss? Should I let it love me and all my pieces? Perhaps we should be bound, and I should embrace all it encompasses. Perhaps I should love it back.

Maybe I deserve the void, the water's crushing depths. I know there is more of this beyond, so why should I deny it any longer? If I were to jump, will even the rain miss how it falls over me? Should I ask such questions, or just take the plunge?

I should go. It calls to me, I would ignore it no longer. Whatever awaits on the other side is destined, and I would be a fool to reject that which has been written in the stars.

I push a toe to the edge, and the ocean turns to sand. Warm and golden, brightened by the setting sun. And the sun itself burns the sky, bleeding pink and orange through the clouds. A shimmer over the water - as glass, or jewels. As beautiful, as rare. No, more so, for it can never be claimed or sold. It just is, in all its brevity.

The world is in two. Beach, and ocean. Has it always been like this, I wonder? Has there always been sand beneath my feet?

The rain mists at the edge of the sky. I sit, and the hem of my trousers is dusted by the grains. The air tastes of salt, like tears and memory. For once there is no wind, and the waves are calm. No, this has always been so. The turmoil within was a storm, but outside there was always stillness.

A second voice speaks. Stay here a while. Breathe, and watch.

I dare not close my eyes. The weight rises to my shoulders, and wisps away as smoke, carried out from this place. I breathe, slow and easy, nose and mouth, my throat no longer tight. It burns, and chills, but suddenly, I don't care. It is not the agony I endured, nor the emptiness that tried to devour my senses. The light is warm and bright. This place is more than solitude, more than peace, so what else should concern me?

The roll of the tide hits my ear. I have not heard such music for a very long time. The water stirs and swills, and all that it carries is cycled to the surface.

The ocean is no longer a void, it is everything all at once. Every raindrop to have fallen, every grain of sand to have been scraped away from rock, just as every star in the sky is a sun. It is full, and plenty - a medium for potential. If I were to make it my end, I would not be erased. I would be carried, and my wholeness would serve as nourishment - hope for all that it bears.

And I see that that is what I've been missing. I stood upon the ocean, looking out towards the horizon, when what I needed was an island. I have found mine, but I might have done sooner had I leapt into the water and swum with the tide.

I smile, for the new voice has been kind. Because of it, I have seen beauty once more. I have thought of a time where the sun is high overhead.

I lie against the earth and listen. I feel the universe surrounding me. I am one with it again.

And I think... I think I can take the weight a little longer. I can face the agony, the emptiness, and the cold. I can wait for the dusk to turn to night, or the dawn to turn to day... For now, I can let these tears fall upon the sea, like rain.