Seaworthy Stretches

Rumble along Gatsby, that's what Daisy would do. But then again, you're no brainchild of Fitzgerald...

The waves reached for me with frothy pale fingers beckoning across the
sands. They slid closer and closer to the road, nearer and nearer as the
high tide rolled in. But they never reach.

They never have.

They retreated, gliding back to the azure hue that marked the uncertainty
between land and sea. And as if a stubborn child, the sea reached forward
again, flowing out, nearing me but no.

The waves never reached this far.

They never would.

In Gatsby style the waves shot back, repressed, but ever willing to have
the unattainable. There was an ambiguous border between this land and sea,
but my thoughts dwindled not on that, but of something truer to Fitzgerald.
I thought of a past that while distant, was heartwrenchingly close; loved
and hated. The unattainable, repressed icon of my life and dreams which I
could not have.
 

Love.
 

And with love out of reach but ever-present, it taunted my heart and kept
me vigilant, as if my routine was to revolve around her.

The waves drew closer, nearly touched, and fell back...

Author's Note

Please ignore any grammar/spelling errors. It is a little Hallmark but I like the parallel structure to it.

Reviews

[emma]

This is enchanting and almost moves into prose-poetry. It does a wonderful job of conveying an emotion in just imagery. The tip I'd give you is to watch your tense—it jumps around, and intentional or not, it interrupted my reading a few times as I tried to figure out what was going on.
But the Gatsby allusion with the waves. I feel like I know this person.