I can see him. I can see daylight while I’m immersed in darkness. His soft voice comes to me with little delay, assuring me there is nothing to be scared of.
Time feels like an endless ocean, us standing on opposite shores; but with every tick of the clock a grain of sand comes afloat, and peninsulas begin to grow like steady branches on a soft horizontal tree. We stand facing each other, eyes closed, breathing in the salty wind whose wild dance is only the prelude to a memory. The beaches surrounding either side remain unexplored, enticing, but we know they could never be as interesting as they would be if they let two pairs of footprints fade into the water.
One day, when we least expect it, the marine scent will be replaced by that of fresh grass, and we’ll walk into an isthmus in the midst of which we are to run into each other’s arms, into the promise of a vast horizon to leave behind.
I can see him, but I can’t. And I wish I could build that seemingly impossible strip of land with my own bare hands.