These Cells Are Passages

Going coastal is not the same as going postal, but sometimes, the feelings mirror one another. You see your reflection anywhere and your face is your mother's or father's. The hairline is the same, as well as the thoughtful crease. This time, the reflection's in water, something unstable yet constant, contradictory in its existence. Snapping out of the trance involves effort, but no more than the fish provides, no more than the whale. No more than the letter on its journey to your home right now, fighting waves of a different sort, hoping to not get lost in an undertow of other notes and postcards. And my hope rides along with it, from one end of the country to the other. I want you to see it, even if it can't answer your questions, just so you can recognize yourself again, trace the origins of your love, a lone pebble on the sand.