From a Sandbank

(David)

I lived upon the sea.
Knew the freedom of salt air
in my lungs, salt wind in my hair,
the violent exhilaration of flirting with death.
I stood high on the bow as it thumped and soared
and thumped and thumped and soared,

and struggled to breathe at the stern as it plunged under
and plunged,
and stayed,
and stayed under,
and laughed with maniacal glee when we broke surface eventually.
I really lived upon the sea.

And I lived upon the land.
Survived courses when survival
meant more than just passing the course.
Ate things I would rather not even touch
and went further than I ever thought I could.
I stayed alive.
I survived.
I really lived upon the land.

I shared those things with friends.
We were friends because we shared those things.
Some survived.
Others did not.
I suspect you did.
At least, I hope so.

You are my best friend, my confidant.
We went through hells and high waters together.
I know you are still alive
because sometimes I think your thoughts.
You took me to sea,
taught me to defy the storm and to live.
You led me up mountains,
taught me to survive and to live.
You are the one, and I always thought I would see you again.
You are my youth, and I still think I will see you again.
We are a team and we keep each other alive.

Some won’t understand that,
although sometimes they will think they do.
They just don’t understand it.
It’s something we always knew.
Some survive, often without knowing why.
We really lived because we weren’t afraid to die.

You are hope and I hope you are still alive.
I hope you come crawling out of the surf,
wearing that stupid bandanna,
with a glint in your eye and a knife between your teeth.