a sense of belonging

there is nothing to go back to, only forward. no history, no lingering moment, every sense is fleeting as the salty wind that blows through the rough bushes lining the coast.
of all the things i remember about the beach, its the salty taste in the air, in my hair, on my skin. the freshness that you can lick from the breeze that lightly grazes your tongue when you stick it out far enough. i tried to remember that, and all that is left is a fragmented image of what once was. i can never go back to it.
the people you know, you knew, you once met, as if you never knew them at all. all that is left are dreams that confuse you, making you doubt your sanity for one bit of a fraction. then you rememeber, that it really did happen. its just that time has erased them all, faded, blending into the litany of long lost dreams that you once dreamt of, over and over again, or playing in sequels, trapping you between that fine line of consiousness and subconsciousness.
water. rain. floods. flying. supernatural powers. is this what you escape into when your reality is giving you a bit of cruel twist? its mine. my mind goes back to where we used to live. that long road in Paradise, one long, straight road, leading into town. so when you are passing by in a car, you can see house after house. shacks, nice concrete houses, large, dark green yards. but somehow its ominous. the daylight is strange. off color, but you know its night time. youre taking the bus, full of people who used to surround you when you were back in that reality. black people, indian people, mullatos. its normal. youre just sharing a bus with them like how you used to. and any moment now, youre supposed to knock on whatever hard surface of the bus to let the conductor know that its your stop. however, you dont. you travel with them into town. the town is how it should be. nice two way smooth tarred roads by the docks. the inner town isnt too pretty. dirt roads, muddy roads, raw, concrete sidewalks, the post office where i used to receive so much snail mail that i have a boxfull of yellowed letters. passing by the post, i feel this familiar excitement. the anticipation of expecting a letter from a friend, pen pal, news of any kind, from any foreign land. im like a ghost, i dont see myself. i am the camera, roaming, floating in the air. yet ppl look into the camera and respond to me. i walk out of the post office. walk around town. town isnt much, you can explore it within ten minutes. what i like most is the carpark with the waterfront. just parking your car there, you are facing a wide expanse of deep blue. the breeze, blowing your way, chasing away the endless heat and drying the sweat on your skin. you can even jump down to the sand. however nobody does, in case the tide comes i guess. however it never comes full up as to flood the carpark. floods, water. theres always the dream of that. swimming with dolphins in a sparkling blue expanse of something. its a cross between the ocean and a pool. there is wildlife. there are sailboats, but it is also very safe, small lapping waves make your strokes swifter, carrying you, gliding you, through the silky cool water. the sun shining at just the right temperature. then theres another version, where the suns bright, waves are calm. then just when the suit is on, and feet are padding on the sand, towards the water, the waves start to rise. you dont get to swim at all. instead, the waves hit you. bigger and stronger each time. you have no where to run, you panick. but the water is exquisitely blue, and the day is cloudless. the waves keep pushing. you know you gotta get outta there. but its all wrong. the ocean should be calm. a nice day like this, the waves should not be flooding over, the tide should be at bay. but now. they keep coming, like an army, crashing around you, pulling you, yet pushing you back. the endless tug of war. yet, you are not drowning. you are still alive. why cant you escape? there is a sand wall. you are stuck between the sandwall and the waves. nowhere to run. you cannot climb up becasue somehow the sand is as smooth as silk, as fine as ever. youre clawing at the fine grains that just keep breaking apart. what to do. then you wake up.