musings on alive summer nights
As hot sand hits my already warm feet, I feel electricity in my body and a slight anger going up my spine, desperately trying to catch up with my head, but I clock it.
I command it to take a break and go eat a croissant or something. That annoys it even more, but off it goes, leaving a trail of smoke and an empty seat.
My feet feel soft and my heart full of hope as the warmth of the sun glides on my face and sticks there, like a gelatinous mix that feels like a blob on the skin.
A wide smile reclaims my face, and I open my arms, leaving my tote bag falling with a silent drop on the sand. Pop. A muffled sound, not to wake anyone up.
Have you ever thought about that sand sound? It’s coming from somewhere far away, hitting your ears a millisecond later. And it’s always so short and simple. No reverberations, no afterthoughts, just like a teacher who puts her bag on the desk, in the middle of an exam, not to disturb anyone.
Pop.
The asymmetrical chiffon white dress is dancing on my body, making waves, touching my skin, whispering — we’re here!! We have arrived!!
I feel like a Greek goddess.
My only anchor to reality is how my skin starts burning.
The shore welcomes me, letting the sea wash over my boiling feet, and it feels like I was suddenly upgraded to a higher level in heaven.
So I close my eyes and let that liberating sensation wash over me and my scattered, unfinished thoughts. They scram fast, leaving my spirit roam free, surrounding my whole being like an aura.
I feel invincible.
I know I have immense power, and whenever I feel like that, nothing can touch me.
How do we get here more often, without the sea?
Without the sea, we’re nothing.
While you’re on the beach, you’re possessed by a quaint look, and no one knows why, but everyone who sees you there thinks it’s normal. Because they don’t know what your face looks like when it’s not touched by the sun, when it doesn’t have freckles or when it’s not sweaty. For some people, your face will forever be sassy, charming, tanned, and slightly freckled.
How grand.
While facing the grandeur of the sea, I see whatever she wants me to see. I think mermaids rule over the seas, and that’s why all these memories surface and pour in your mind like a bubbly Coke when you look at it. They demand introspection and peer into your soul, shamelessly. You’re a puppet, a small thingy under their immense persuasion powers.
They find your soul in one look, they numb your mind in a second, break your walls like blowing a dandelion, and they close their eyes to see what you’re seeing.
The mermaids connect in an intergalactic way to your being, making you think about your teenage self and nights when everything was possible.
Washing over the sand in your shower, your phone beeps and you reach out for it, right over the transparent stand above the sink. You don’t care because your patience is short and you have no idea what mindfulness is. You see the message of your friend, summoning you at 9 pm sharp on the beach fronting the cocktail bar you’ve talked about going to all day. There’s also the cute guy you’ve been eyeing all day, in the back of your mind, no matter what you do.
Your heart races and you hurry the shower, the foam, the rinsing, feeling the slippery soap under your feet.
You get out of the shower without tapping your body dry with the towel inside the shower cabin. Water just flows all over the bathroom while you take your phone with wet hands and type “c you can’t wait xx”
Water pours in small drips on the cold marble floors, and you smack your lips, loving the coldness that settles on your whole body.
The AC is on, too.
Then you feel the worm in your stomach asking you to hurry the fuck up because what is patience? We have none.
You kind of panic at the thought that you have to do your makeup and consider not wearing anything but mascara and a gloss. Maybe some bronzer because it’s summer and we’re here!! How can anyone go without bronzer on a summer night? No no. Bronzer is a must.
You decide to pour yourself a glass of Aperol and go out with your phone glued to your hand, on the terrace, and calm the fuck down because your hand is shaking with excitement and you can’t apply mascara like a normal person. Besides, you also decided you’d look hot with liquid eyeliner.
Then you decide you don’t really like Aperol, but it’s a vibe.
Why why must you be so impatient, you say to yourself, having no clue that you‘ll learn how to master that one day, and that you should enjoy that lack of judgment for as long as it lasts.
Finally, you look in the mirror near your hotel door, and you feel their power again, washing over you. You see the 19-year-old self looking back at you, confident as hell, telling you there’s nothing you can’t do and no mistake too big.
You embody that too and spring out the door, leaving a trace of sea salt, citrus, and vanilla all through the hotel halls. You hope you locked the door, but don’t bother returning to check.
The night awaits like this giant God you pay your dues to. If you don’t show up, you’re not worthy to reign the night empire (fatal), and if you do show up, you must show that God what a force you are.
Of course, when you arrive to meet your friends, you’re still under the mermaid’s powers and are possessed by a strong belief that these people have been waiting all along for their master.
So you take the lead and set the tone for the baddest and most fun decisions of that glamorous and whimsical night.
Man, those mermaids have pulled a number on you, cause the next day you feel abandoned with nothing short of a lump body with a pulsating head attached to it.
You can’t do anything other than drink water, take a pill, and watch cartoons until you feel a bit hungry again. Then you know you’ll be ok. The phone blips but you couldn’t care less.
The master is resting in its cave, with glassy, lackadaisical eyes, not to be disturbed.
It’s around 7 P M, and my blue room has woken up at my sight. As I step inside it my chest fills with euphoria. We can spend a few hours together, watching something fascinating about how people think, something completely fictional like HP or cartoons. We could also be spending about 20 minutes before my phone rings and I realize I have somewhere far more important to be. No no, not more important than you, blue room. But see, it would be a whole drama if I didn’t go.
And then it starts again.
You feel the tiny tiny tendrils in your brain, the ones the mermaids left. You realize you’ll be having them now for who knows how much time, and you have to deal with it.
You start wondering if they weren’t actually there all along, and you were just imagining stuff?
Whisking that thought away, because of course, I have no patience, and my night is about to start.
I have never felt so alive and there is absolutely nothing in this world right now that exists, besides the Gods of tonight and me.
Originally posted on Substack
