To the man dancing to the waves. I know you’re there.

Words by Manal Aziz.

Some words stick, where others don’t. 
Like glue, 
like morning-eyes,
like fingers after peeling a mango. 

Some things come to stay, some to go. 
Back and forth like waves,
like rocking chairs,
like the weight you’ve been dying to get off your hips. 

You like to be in control, of what stays and what goes. But every time you tighten your grip, you realize that you don’t.

Not at all. 

To the man dancing to the waves. I know you’re there.

In your eyes, I see the end of it all. Your body shouts things your throat never could and I -love- the way you do your dance. So gracefully, so effortlessly. As if it’s all you’ve ever done. The song of a thousand rivers and me. And when the curtain falls, the tides wash it away.

Your slate is clean. 
Your day is new.
So you do your dance again.

And again.

And again.

Each time the curtain falls it takes you longer to catch your breath. 
You know your life is suffocating, yet you keep breathing. 

And dancing.

To the tides.

But what happens when your feet stop moving?
What if she doesn’t like the taste of a life that’s that fast-paced?
What if she doesn’t like the music?

Will the tides come looking for you in the streets?