Someday The Waves ✔ *Wattys15 Winner*

Prologue

All that I have is a river, The river is always my home

Take me away, For I just cannot stay

Or I'll sink in my skin and my bones

The Water - J.Flynn

. . .

I used to really love Saturdays.

Once upon a time just the thought and the hope of that one perfect day would make everything else feel slightly bearable. It lifted stress and pressures of pesky weekday life away. The type of long, winding Saturday you could wrap yourself up in. Under the duvet covers when the sun had risen and hide away from the rest of the world. Shielded in soft cottons and pillows away from responsibilities and dragging daily commitments.

Back when I had a job, and a way to kill time I'd hold those precious Saturdays tightly and relish every second spent doing whatever the hell I wanted. Endless choices without worry. I could sleep in all day if I so pleased. Devour takeout for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Tuck myself away.

I used to love it.

Now, well I don't love them so much since everyday is an endless cycle of sleeping and eating and worrying about how easy it is to wish the hours, days away.

Wash, rinse and repeat.

Because now I've got no job and nothing worthy to do with the rest of my days each one has just become another Saturday and I hate it more than I can stand. When all you have are thoughts for company too much time becomes your worst enemy.

Freedom hangs heavy with every waking moment.

It will drive you crazy. Perhaps even a little insane. Such a mundane existence can to do that.

The truth is I used to love many things but those feelings have long since passed. The thought of doing anything remotely interesting or enjoyable, to allow myself to really feel anything is reason enough to pull those covers right back up and sleep for an eternity.

Which is quite easy to do stuck here, in this new place I'm told I'll grow to love, maybe someday call home.

But home now is nothing but a small, single storey sorry excuse for a beach bungalow. It is but a roof with four, thin ply walls and a place to rest or hide.

Home is now a tiny little seaside town that's seen better days.

It's living with a sister who hasn't forgiven you for being born, failing to mask the irritation of the burden you bring. Just like it's always been.

A home is supposedly where the heart is but mine is a thousand miles away somewhere begging for a reunion. It craves something familiar to hold onto.

If the waves were to someday wash over every inch of this town, sweeping everything away I wouldn't mind.

I wouldn't care one bit, because then I wouldn't have to stay in this god awful, never grey, dependably sunny place for one more moment and feel guilty about it.

Because I would finally be free from this fever dream and I too would be washed away.

. . .