I’m behind a screen.
It’s a beautiful, sapphire screen for some reason with geometric shapes all over it gleaming like a wet, rolling, tumultuous ocean.
The wind is so brisk it’s almost cold and my hair won’t stay off my face.
Why am I still alone standing on this beach?
Why do you want me to stay behind this screen?
I’ve never heard of a friend being afraid to meet a friend. Or is there a fertile seed germinating in you that I’m watering? I’m just guessing, not assuming.
You didn’t know it was there.
Keep the seed in the dark behind that screen so it won’t sprout.
All I can hear is the roar of the gleaming, wet, ocean.