Jim slowly opened his phone, blearily blinking at the image of his mom and him, posing by the sea.
He remembered the day well. It was on his birthday, the day his dad took off two years prior. She surprised him, taking him down to the beach early in the morning. They had funnel cake-whipped cream and sprinkles that stuck on Jimâs cheeks. She had to leave early, but he didnât mind. He remembered her hand in his, guiding him-her smiling face, butâ
Looking back, it was as if someone else was looking in, not the person whose eyes lacked the warmth of the stranger on the screen. He felt detached, as if the moment existed a million miles away from him-far from the cavernous husk of the Darklands. Fingers touched the screen, eyes drifted open and shut as if blinking through the murky depths of that ocean.
He remembered when he first went to the sea. Jim was eight-he was pulled under, his eyes burning as he coughed up salt and foam as he was pulled further from the shore, and yet, aliveâdragged from the currents by his mother; far more alive than he had felt for months.
Far more free, not shackled with the burden of two worlds, not torn asunder by fate.
He remembered how warm her arms felt-how her hands ran through tangled locks as Jim sobbed into her chest. He remembered being so scared-he remembered the brush with death as a mere shade of what has occurred since then.
He feels as though he has been drowning for a long time, now.
He wished he could feel her touch, see her eyes. They were the color of the sea.
His tears tasted of salt on his lips.
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
areudirty
gracieabrams
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
romaincrisis
