Literature
The Watchtower
The turbulent sea casts wave upon wave against the base of the tower. The crashing of the water a thunderous sound that fills the air. The sky is grey, but not so dark that it obstructs the light completely and there is a slight breeze, enough that sea spray hits my face, water whipped up from the waves reaching all the way up to my balcony at the top of my tower. I don’t mind the sea spray, the coldness of it – or even the dampness of it. Not here, not in this place. I watch the sea, letting the rhythm of the waves memorise me for a time, letting it capture and calm my mind, almost letting it hypnotise me, but not quite. I retain enough consciousness to enjoy the moment, to enjoy the calming of my mind, to get lost a little in the moment... But not quite completely.
I can never completely let go.
That control is so hardwired into me, into my soul that to let go completely... Would be an anathema to me. I need that small amount of control just to be... Just to be happy?
I wonder at
