The Sea

It's dark in here now. You didn't really have to close the door. All I can see is the little shadows of your feet in the crack. Little breaks in the beam of light. Hesitance.
I know. It's crazy right? I think to myself.
And I laugh. My voice sounds strange in the room, as though the walls were surprised to hear it and sent it back in all the wrong directions.
Like they were sleeping. Startled.
Cash in, the night says. She's waiting.
"So what?" I say, looking out the window.
Staring her right in the eyes.
The light crashes into everywhere when you open the door; it's too fast for everything to get out of the way in time.
Like the sun came up. Like dawn is the bulb in the living room.
"Esperaba que me amaras," you say.
"Es todo lo que quería." It bounces off of the wall and slaps me in the face.
I grin. What a time to grin. I couldn't help it; your tongue was all wrapped around the air in a way full of humor.
Is something funny? the night prods.
"Everything is funny," I say to her, knowing that you won't understand.
You're waiting. Disintegrating with overcast eyes.
"Extraño el sol. Eres el sol. La noche parece al mar."
I say it, my armor fleeing.
Suddenly I am full of fear, and I need you more than ever. Earth and Moon, pulling on each other.
And the sea.
"La noche?" you ask later, after we have fallen together.
Broken, but glued again.
You only love the sea, the night says, enraged, twirling me out of sleepiness.
You belong to her, and she to you.
Those words roll around in my head, the sharp edges stunning me as I explain mentioning the night to you.
Your eyes close.
Close enough.
The Spanish coastline roars and I shiver, like my muscles know. Excitatory, inhibitory.
I can see her out the window, screaming with a jealous hate, rattling my insides.
It's dark in here now.
Earth and Moon, pulling on each other.
And the sea.