The Miracle of Life...Against All Odds

The miracle of life…against all odds

By Nathalie Kyrou

It was almost dark when we arrived in the bay. The sky was a deep rose colour, the air thick with humidity. We followed the dusty path along the beach towards the east corner, free of sunbeds and human presence. Ahead of me I could see people pitching a tent among the acacia trees, while two ladies sat next to each other in the distance. As I approached them, the turtle nest cage came into view, signifying where the eggs had been laid under the sand.

I was introduced to an older American woman, and another younger woman, from England, both of whom had been visiting the beach throughout week, waiting for the turtles to be born. Jim, the Turtle Man, as he was known to the locals, had not yet appeared. My British friend and I set up our mats around the nest cage, and got settled. As darkness engulfed us, our eyes gradually became accustomed to the night. The only light near us was the dim red torch set up to safely illuminate the surface of the sand under the cage, so that we could see any sign of turtle activity.

The waiting game began. Although the turtles might emerge from the sand at any time after dusk, the previous night they had started to climb out around midnight. The moonlight would normally show them the way to the sea. Unfortunately, that night the moon was not due to rise before the early hours of the morning, so it would be up to us instead to light the way and guide any newborn turtles into the warm waters of the bay.

During our turtle watch, others began to drop by, locals who knew that the hatching was imminent, some of whom had already been there the previous night when 56 turtles had emerged from the nest, much to everyone’s delight. Some people stayed, others passed by, chatted for a bit, and left. As the hours blended into each other, we sunk into the sand and into deep relaxation, disconnected from the world, yet totally connected to the wonders of nature.

Finally, The Turtle Man appeared. I had heard a lot about him, and was curious what this Irish turtle protector was like. Guessing him to be in his late sixties, or early seventies, with white hair and a jolly bounce, Jim appeared out of the darkness, with a couple of beach chairs, a cool box and a bottle of rum. His presence filled the beach instantly; with his smooth Irish drawl, hearty laugh and witty jokes, he was an unforgettable character. Soon it was a party: gathered around the nest cage, as if it were a bonfire, was Jim, with his flowing banter, his niece’s cheerful Irish husband, an Italian man (I think) who I didn’t get the chance to speak to, the charismatic American lady with her fun facts and stories, the English girl with her beautiful contagious laugh, my British friend with his impressive knowledge and positive energy, and I, a grateful, welcomed newcomer. I thought to myself, what can be better than the simple pleasures of life: a few shared secrets and stories from a few strangers? A Cypriot family who were camping nearby with their children joined us later too: what an eclectic medley of people we all were, brought together by our shared love for wildlife and turtles!

The thing about sitting on a beach at night, away from all the lights and commotion of the taverns, bars and cafes nearby, is that you can truly relax. With nothing but the twinkling sky above, there is absolutely nothing to do but sit or lie down and breathe and gaze up at the stars. Some might dare to call this boring, but that night, the sky was tremendous. There are very few times in my life that I have seen such a panoramic display of bright stars and even brighter planets. My friend used an app that helped us locate Jupiter and Venus, and we also spotted a few satellites moving across the dark velvety expanse, as planes from a nearby airport zoomed around not far above us, shining strong beams of light across the dark sky. They were a strange sight, reminding me of UFOs from sci-fi films, with flashing green and red lights and long, thick rays of light shooting out of them (which were so clearly visible because of all the dust in the air). The more we stared up at the moonless sky, the more layers of cosmic activity we could see… and I was even blessed to spot a couple of shooting stars!

Despite the attraction of the universe, I couldn’t help but think that it takes a lot of patience to be a wildlife lover, or rather rescuer. I suddenly had great respect for all the Turtle Men (and women) in the world, among, many other environmentalists, who spend weeks, if not years, patiently taking care of our natural world. To wait for a turtle’s nest to hatch, not knowing what will happen next, or if anything will happen at all, is a little frustrating, but at the same time exciting. Maybe there were no more eggs - there was no way of telling at this point - or perhaps the tiny turtles preferred to wait until the midnight hour to crawl out. I realised I was feeling a little anxious, so I took a deep breath and lay down for a while. I tried to flick away the sand off my mat, but ended up getting grains of sand everywhere - even in my ears! Would I get used it it all - the sand, the humidity, the darkness, the waiting? Deep down, I had a feeling it would be worth it.

As I let the night envelope me in its stillness, and my own awareness root me to the ground, I found my mind emptying fast. The faint chatter of our company receded into the background, and all I could feel was the heavy swell of my chest as I tried to breathe in the humid air. But, as time ticked away, I started to lose a little hope. Could this be it? No more turtles this year? Last year, I was told that there had been 15 different nests along this very beach, whereas this year, sadly, there was only this one, and no-one had any clue how many eggs were in it. It could be anywhere between 50 -100, though the average is around 80. The American lady, who had been coming here for years, tending to the turtles under Jim’s watchful eye, told me how things were getting worse on the island, when it comes to protecting this precious endangered species: the Loggerhead turtle.

Sunbeds multiply as people keep spreading themselves (and garbage) carelessly onto beaches, even ones which should be protected to conserve wildlife. In an ironic twist, it had recently been reported that locals are protesting on Lara Bay, the island’s most famous and prolific turtle beach. They are protesting to be ALLOWED to add sunbeds to a beach which for years has been protected because of the turtles! While the world fights a somewhat futile effort to save endangered species and protect the environment, locals here are fighting for the right to add sunbeds to what may be one of the last wild beaches on the island free of those plastic monstrosities! It makes me fume.

Here I was, surrounded by an enthusiastic and dedicated group of foreigners, putting in so much time and effort to save and protect our island’s Loggerhead, while other selfish islanders, driven by tourism and greed, try to destroy this beautiful animal. It makes no sense. I was disgusted when I had recently viewed online a locally shot video of a beautiful turtle, dead from swallowing a plastic bag. On another occasion, I had seen a turtle dead in real life, entangled in a fisherman’s net. The contradictory care and love of some people, against the ignorance and destruction of others, leaves me both hopeful and sad, but mostly confused…and yet determined. I must do whatever it takes to help preserve these incredibly majestic creatures, and educate my peers and children island-wide, as to how lucky we are to have such precious animals on our shores, and how important it is to protect them!

As the midnight hour approached, I began to get worried. How much longer could I wait before having to drive all the way home, without having seen the birth of any turtles? What if I left and then the turtles emerged? How long should I wait? Unwilling to lose hope completely, I decided to send the little creatures a telepathic message - I turned and looked at the nest cage and whispered aloud with all my might: “Come on little ones, come up now, come on!” I sent them all my energy and love. Then Jim got up and walked over to the cage, and removed it. “I think I may have to ruffle the sand a little,” he said, “to help them out.” He used his hand to twirl the sand in the centre of the cage area, forming a kind of funnel shape. “No sign of anything,” he continued, but then dug a little deeper. “They may need a little hand to push their way through…”

Suddenly, a miracle! A tiny flutter of a movement in the sand. It’s a sign of life! A turtle head appeared, and took its first proper breath of Cypriot air! I ran to the spot and peered down into the red lit hole…what an unforgettable sight! The tiny grayish green body was slowly trying to waddle its way out of the sand. Jim picked it up gently (but with the ease of a man who has done this countless times before) and handed it to one of the others in the darkness. Then he expertly dipped his fingers a little deeper into the sand and another head popped up, then another! I couldn’t contain my excitement! Oh my goodness, before my very eyes, life was emerging from grains of sand. What a thrilling sight!

Jim said I could touch one and pick it up, so I did. It was the loveliest feeling ever. The turtle’s shell was not too hard, nor too soft - to worry about harming it. The reptile fit neatly in the palm of my hand and moved like a newborn animal, full of new life, but not strong enough to escape. I gazed adoringly at the the tiny turtle which I held preciously in my hand, its paws soft enough that they did not prick my skin. I caressed it and placed it in one of the buckets provided, which was filled with sand. We would eventually place all the turtles who emerged from the nest in the buckets for a few minutes to rest, also so that they would not wander off and get lost or trampled on, until we were ready to release them.

  

The family who were camping nearby were summoned. We were now all there, sitting on the sand, around the nest, helping to collect the turtles, as they hatched. The children were in awe, as was I, this being my first turtle birthing ever! We touched them tenderly, and with curiosity, we took pictures and videos of them scuttling around in the buckets. We simply couldn’t get enough! Nothing more fascinating than the miracle of life against all odds. In fact, I was informed that only one in a thousand Loggerhead turtles who are born, actually survive. Now those are not great odds! It made me sad to think that maybe none of these energetic bundles of joy may even grow to maturity. Whereas these creatures can live for up to 50 years, or even more, most of them do not even get to reach half that age, due to predators and pollution. But at least we are giving them a fighting chance, by protecting the nest and helping them into the water.

Normally, the turtles would find their own way down to the sea, but sadly the beach had been eroded by rain and the waves had washed away most of the sand. So, what the turtle protectors did was tocreate a furrow along the sand leading from the nest location down to the point on the beach where the stones started. The turtles would be lifted from the buckets and placed at the top of the furrow, right below the nest site, and encouraged to begin their long journey into the sea. However, without the moonlight to guide them, they needed a little help.

That night, we shone a dim red torch along the way, to guide them towards the shore. We released bunches of turtles, at most 5-6 at a time (so we could keep count), and they began crawling along the sand, down the trench. If any of them got disorientated or side-tracked along the way, it was our cue to turn them around or place them back in the middle of the furrow so they could continue to follow each other towards the shore. When they reached the rocks, it was our duty to carry them to the water, because if left on their own, the trip from the rocks to the water might take forever, and the little creatures may even get lost or hurt. I watched as each person picked up a couple of the turtles and carried them down to the beach. I cradled a turtle in each hand and joined the rest as we all got into the water up to our knees. Then, in the dark, we released the bunch of turtles in one go. As their little bodies left the protection of our hands, and entered the Mediterranean Sea, they instinctively started paddling away, probably never to be seen again!

That night, we all had a surprise. Jim had been expecting possibly another 30 turtles to hatch, maybe less, maybe a little more, but to everyone’s amazement, over 50 more turtles emerged, making it almost 120 in total - all from one nest! Some of them - the ones buried deep - needed aid to get out of the sand. Because of the pressure, some of the eggs were a bit crushed, so the American dug her arm elbow deep into the sand and carefully scooped out the delicate eggs. Small, soft ping pong ball shaped shells…some with unborn turtles inside breaking out at that very moment! The eggs were laid out on the sand if they were remnants, or placed inside the buckets for the turtles to be born naturally on their own. Once they discarded their shells, the cracked eggs were then brought back to the rest in a pile nearby, to be later counted by the Turtle Man- this being the only sure way to actually know how many had been laid and hatched this year. Sadly, there were a few turtles that didn’t make it. We found one squashed - it probably didn’t have enough power to move, under all the weight of all the other eggs, rocks and sand. Some were dead inside their eggs, but the majority were alive and kicking, and at the end of the night, we counted in total over 100 newborn Loggerhead turtles, alive and kicking!

Releasing them into the sea was a bittersweet moment for me. I was so happy to see the newborns safely swept away by the calm water, ready to begin their hopefully long underwater existence! But I was sad that this night was coming to a close, and that I would not see those turtles again. I was a also little fearful for them, out in the big sea, but I sent them a little prayer and a lot of love. 

The shells were buried back in their nest by Jim. I wasn’t sure if this was just a way to respect nature, or a way to help guide the turtles back to the same spot when they were ready, decades later, to lay their own eggs (because apparently, no matter how far they may roam, they instinctively return to the beach where they were born to lay their eggs!). In fact, turtles such as the Loggerhead, are one of the few underwater creatures who live in the sea but lay their eggs on land, but interestingly, they are classified as reptiles, as they cannot live on both land and water like amphibians do. Hopefully I, myself, would return to this same beach, at the same time, next year (as these turtles usually lay their eggs once a year in May/June and the eggs hatch in August). 

This was definitely a night I would never forget. I gave a sigh of contentment as I gazed at the sand which only minutes earlier had been the focus of my amazement.

As I left the beach that night, uncomfortable, thirsty, wet, sandy, sweaty, tired, and with aching feet (from walking over all the sharp rocks barefoot), I could only smile. It had all been worth it! My mind was dancing, my heart was warm, and I was on a high. I knew that I would follow the aquatic journey of those baby turtles in my dreams that night. Maybe someday I would return to this secret beach, with my own family, to share this wonderful experience, rejoicing in the miracle of life!

Living on a sinking island. A disillusioned Cypriot bares it all...

I have an allergy, and it’s to my country! Having gone out for dinner last night in what I thought was one of the only consistently good restaurants in the city of Limassol, and having returned highly annoyed at the terrible service and quality of food (yet again), I woke up this morning unable to go back to sleep, feeling almost ashamed at myself for continuing to live in a community that disagrees with me on almost every level. It’s early on a chilly Sunday morning, and the only solution for my allergic reaction to my dissatisfied and disappointed experiences recently is to write about it.

Scrolling through local online posts, I was overwhelmed by all the negativity around me - it seems my fingers are not the only ones just itching to write about it. Part of me wants to immediately set up a journalistic website to expose the current affairs of this country, to create a platform which offers people the chance to share their concerns, opinions and experiences on the food and restaurant industry in Cyprus, but then I think to myself, why stop there? The problem is not just epicurean. When I open my eyes and ears (for lack of a better expression) everything seems to suck on this island. The whole nation needs a complete make-over, a deep-rooted change, in order to progress and enter this new millennium. Will an idealistic ‘glass door’ project truly make any difference?

There is a part of me that is patriotic – or perhaps I wish there were. What I mean to say is that I do have a side of my character that believes in Cyprus and wants to change things for the better, not only for myself right now, but for my family, and future generations to come. When I first moved here from abroad over 10 years ago, having spend a large portion of my life in foreign, civilized nations, I was shocked at how backward and useless this place was. I know it sounds harsh, but I had no idea how incapacitated our citizens were, and how helpless one could feel. I felt – and still do – that I had stepped back in time 30 years, to a country which was still in many ways developing, that somehow is legally part of the European Union, but that has yet in many ways to prove it is worthy of this title. It is arguably fair to say we are extremely behind out here. Yes, I may be somewhat displaced, being of mixed backgrounds and having lived around the world all my life, but I grew up here, and Cyprus has always been my home. Unfortunately, my home is on what I fear is a ‘sinking’ island. We may not experience tsunamis and typhoons, but we are very slowly (maybe too slow to notice), sinking to the depths of despair.

We may be gradually drowning under the surface, but not all the issues we face are superficial. It's not just the traffic and the lack of choice that irritates me. We are suffocated by the constraints of monopoly. Everything firstly is overpriced: just look at our inflated real estate and household bills, which everyone is furious about (but most do not do anything about). What’s worse, is that nothing is worth the steep price it comes in. Quality of products and nation-wide service is beyond poor, and the worst thing about the whole situation is that nobody cares. Most people do not even complain when they go out and have to drive around for ages looking for a non-existent parking spot in our cramped downtown areas, only to eat overpriced, untasty food, and experience the ignorance and rudeness of staff everywhere. For the ones who do complain or try to communicate their experiences to others, whether it be in frustration or in an attempt to improve things, they are left feeling like a goldfish in a toxic fishbowl, going around in circles in vain, never getting anywhere, slowly being poisoned.

Human nature is not evolving. Quite the opposite I would say. I feel with each year I live here that we are heading in the opposite direction. The other day I went for a walk on the beach, saw a café’s disgusting mess of beach umbrellas swept up by the tide, lying dangerously broken on our beautiful shores, with piles of rubbish around, and dilapidated remains of the summer café strewn on the seaside. How can a known establishment get away with this, and how can the board of the municipality ignore it? Isn’t there someone to take responsibility for this environmental hazard? Why am I the only one taking pictures of the mess and sending it to the authorities, so they can clear up their act? How disrespectful can people get, littering their environments and not even caring that they themselves are walking amongst the garbage they leave behind? The beach path along the ancient Amathus area, a place which thousands of years ago was already civilized and admired, lies in ruins, uncivilized and even dangerous, due to the declining and polluting nature of a heartless and insensitive nation.

When I first moved back here, having lived in places like the UK and Canada for years before, I was disappointed and surprised to find a severe lack of recycling in Cyprus. I tried to raise awareness. I put together a team of volunteers to shoot a documentary film, exposing the issues but also promoting those who are trying to make a change for the better. I conducted many interviews, covered many festivals, and I even prepared a website to raise awareness and promote our efforts. I was ready to face the issues and make a difference. At the time I had some enthusiastic supporters. But then the island’s financial crisis hit, and unfortunately I had several challenges to face as a freelancer, thus I was tempted into accepting a full-time writer’s position in a forex company (another story for another day). As a result, sadly, I paused my efforts at environmental activism as I simply did not have any time or energy to proceed at that moment. Life took over, the pause became more permanent and my focus strayed elsewhere for a few years, as I tried to get used to working in what can only be described as mostly unprofessional offices, run by amateurs who take themselves too seriously. I felt the dream of completing that documentary slowly slipping away. As time passed, I felt more and more like it was a waste of energy (excuse the pun) for me to bother making an environmental film, that no matter how hard I tried, things would never improve on this island. I am embarrassed to say after years of trying to push recycling in the city, both at home and in the office, today I live in an area where there is no recycling pick-up and my efforts have dwindled. I remember with regret the wonderful ideas I had, footage I shot, and support I received, and feel devastated that I failed to ‘pay it back’.

Torn between extreme feelings of hope and pessimism I succumb to the futility of it all. My desire to change the world is buried away. I would call myself indecisive by nature but living out here has only made it worse. Perhaps it is the Gemini in me, but I am often pulled in different directions, simultaneously, drawn by opposing magnets of motivation and helplessness. No wonder I am passive these days. No wonder I feel as though I am suspended in mid-air. Am I doomed to face a depressing future, with no chance of escape?

Sun-loving tourists who flock here each year would be surprised to know that road rage, money-laundering, terrible infrastructure, useless politics, lethargy, suffering, pollution, corruption are but a few of the realities we face today on this island, a place that was once renowned as the island of love. Where is the love, I ask? Where are the people who love and care about each other, who cherish the soil beneath their feet? Where have they disappeared to?!

If my generation is already ten times worse that the last, what hope is there for the next generation to come? How can anyone with a conscience even raise a child in today’s society? Those who do have principles find it a daily struggle to integrate themselves into society. It is a constant battle to try and live your life morally, the way you deserve, on an island where people dump garbage outside their own front doors, drive dangerously like they are the only ones on the road, breaking the law and ignoring all the rules. All I see around me is an increasingly lazy, apathetic bunch of people misbehaving immaturely, with zero respect for their peers and fellow citizens. 

I am not trying to imply that I am superior to others here. This is not a personal attempt to slam everyone and the place I live in for no reason.  This is me so fed up with everything, that I simply cannot just sit around and moan about it. This is me trying to bring a voice to the problem. I prefer to write about the issue. Yes, I am still complaining in a way, but I prefer to express in words how I feel, because I know there are others out there who may share similar experiences. Only by reaching out can we truly connect and find a way, together, to shake things up, and turn things around. Am I naive to crave a future where things work better? To believe that the entire mentality of a nation can change? 

Years ago, I worked hard to hold a solo painting exhibition to bring awareness to Cypriots about water shortages and the desertification of our island. I was passionate, I was driven. The media covered it, people of importance attended. I gave proceeds of the sales of my paintings to charity. It was what you would call a success. But did it make a difference? Hard to tell. Years later, despite everything I have described here, I truly wonder if there is a point. I hope that there is hope for a better future, but I am simply not sure. 

If you are not happy with the way things are here, there seems to be only one alternative, one which so many people take: to leave this island and move somewhere else, where things have been proven to operate smoothly. So if you ask me personally, "what are you still doing here, why haven’t you moved already?", the answer is that part of me fears that if I do leave, I may never return, which is sad, because at the end of the day, Cyprus is my home… despite all its drawbacks.  I have a history with this country, a love-hate relationship, and I don’t want to give up on it just yet. Is that a tiny glimmer of hope I detect in me?

So, I try to ignore the fact that where I live the roads flood when it rains – as there is no proper drainage – and there is never anywhere to park (and even if there was, people would still park on pavements and halfway sticking out into main roads). I try to look past the fact that the postal service is a joke (we literally have to go to the supermarket to see if there is any post waiting for us there, until the village hires a new postman as the last one was fired because he simply demanded a reasonable wage). But I run out of excuses when it comes to the architecture which can only be described as an ugly concrete jungle: there is no harmony whatsoever in our urban landscape, with towers popping up everywhere for no other reason that to provide internationals with European passports (which they are entitled to should they buy multi-million properties out here). People disregard the fact that they have neighbours, playing loud music well into the early hours of the morning, police being bribed to stay away, workers making noise outside reasonable working hours, and people on the roads in the middle of the night yelling at the top of their lungs, waking up entire neighbourhoods with no consideration. Municipalities do nothing about simple problems (parks are left desolate, speed bumps could prevent accidents, bins could help with litter) which could not only be easily solved but prevent further disasters. Pets are abandoned and neglected (is that even a surprise when most people treat each other like animals?), and people think they can hire and fire without any consequence, or not pay people what they are owed.

I may be grasping at straws here, but I still in some way value where I live: in a temperate climate with sunshine, a relatively safe place, with short distances - what most people would agree is an easy life. I am grateful for some things, but does that mean I should sit back and accept all the ways in which my country is failing? Should I follow the majority and turn a blind eye? I want to be proud to be Cypriot (which unfortunately these days I am not). I love the island itself, but it’s the people who make a place and I fear that the Cypriot people (and those who they let into their country too) are simply ruining an island with natural beauty and potential. Should Cyprus have been run and populated by another culture or people, it may have seen better days. 

Not to discredit in anyway those brave few who are actually taking action to save their island in ways that are important to them. Some of them are locals who I am proud to know personally, some of whom I am lucky enough to call my friends. Their daily struggle and incessant optimism truly inspires me on the days I need it most. I want to be like them. I used to be like them. It is in my nature as a struggling artist to fight for everything and stand up for myself and those I love. I believe in facing obstacles along the way and I do not think that taking the easy route and running away from your problems is the solution. But overcoming difficulties is one thing, headbutting against a brick wall is another.

On the brink of despair, right now my daily struggle is with myself. Do I search deep inside and find the energy and will to take a step towards a better tomorrow on this forsaken island where I already feel so jaded? Or do I search elsewhere and use my energy more effectively taking a step off the island towards another future, someplace else which hasn’t yet been tarnished by negative personal experiences? It’s a decision I find too hard to make, ironically because I know that it’s the hard decisions in life that are the important, life-changing ones. As I search to find my way out of the clouded, uncertain future that is my life in Cyprus, and to make sense of it all, I voice my opinion and encourage others to do the same and reach out. Let’s encourage empathy and remind each other that we are not alone in our struggle. Sharing both our positive and negative experiences might help, and it might not, but at least we will know what we are facing, and that there are others out there who feel the same way.

A lingering taste

I met you, you were taken. You were free, then you left. I met you again and you were taken again, and then you left again. We hardly knew each other, but when we met up after all those years, it was as if we were the closest of friends. Your energy was amazing. Our chemistry was undeniable. We communicated on so many levels. I had a tiny taste of you and I wanted more. But your mind was in a different place, with a different someone, even though I felt you lean towards me. You must have been suspended for an instant between here and there, me and and her, as I felt your attraction. I was drawn in. You were so right for me. It was all so wrong.

One minute you were here, then you were gone. I never even had a chance. I was years too late - or perhaps years too early? Was she the one for you? Or might I be? Should I stay in touch, just in case you are ever free again one day? Will you even remember me if you are? Have I made enough of an impact on you already, in the few hours we spent together on that one precious night? Why did it have to be so enjoyable? Why did you have to be so incredible, in every way? Why... just to tempt me for nothing?

You spoke about her to me. It only made me want you more. Your loyalty, love and dedication, your depth and maturity. But it was all for someone else. Why couldn't I be that lucky girl? Sharing those special moments with you? Why couldn't I have had my chance with you?

We chatted, we laughed, drank wine and shared food. Your fingers brushed past my knees as you leaned in and shared your intimate thoughts with me. I didn't want it to end, but I had to let go. After all, you were not mine. You may never be.

I thought I was done wanting people who I can never have. But it seems I am cursed. It has happened again. And this time it hurts even more. Because now I realise that time is limited. Life is too short. It is slipping away, as you slip away -  from me, from my world.

The connection we felt, the flame and passion that was briefly - but brightly - ignited, was that enough to bind us together in some way? Will you remember me when you are there, so far away? Will you ever think of me when you are alone, or when you are with her? Will you miss me in any way, or desire me deep inside?

Should I show you how I feel? Tell you what I want? Should I be bold and honest? Or will that just scare you and drive you away? Is it better to play it safe, stay in touch but stand behind a glass pane, dreaming about you while my own reflection stares back at me? Are you on the other side, ready to open that window? Would you let me in if I asked?

Suspended, between a dream and reality, I dangle dangerously between my feelings and common sense, finally hanging my emotions in the closet for another day. Until I decide what to do. The only thing I know is that I have to see you one more time. I need another moment with you - not to confirm what I feel - that I know - but to see if you feel it too. To give you a chance to feel me (figuratively speaking of course).

What is going to happen? Do we have a story together? Time will tell. But it's the waiting that is hard. The uncertainty of it all. And the knowledge that I have no control over any of it.

Why is life so unfair sometimes? Why do I need and want what I cannot have? Why are the best things  that ever happen to me so brief and far apart? Why did you walk into my life, to touch me in such a way, then walk away so easily? Why can't you just stay?

The melancholy engulfs me as I let the sweetness of your smile drift away. I close my eyes and try to forget the way I feel... but your face is etched in my memory. The taste of you lingers in my mind. I try to be happy for you, because you seem happy. But deep down I know you could be happier with me.