The mermaid

done with poems for a bit... a storyette now (if such a thing were to exist)

The mermaid

Every night, as the moon starts to slide down towards the water, I swim up to the rocks that frame the ocean and haul myself onto the one of them. To rise above the surface of the ocean, is to feel the weight of a new identity, to acknowledge the reality of other worlds, waterless existences.

The lights from the city blink enchantingly. The allure of forgotten dreams and carelessly discarded lives. To walk among human beings once again. To feel casual bustle of life assault the senses.

I can remember clearly still, the day I traded my feet in for a pair of fins. My dark hair for a few wisps of silver and my soul for a harp that I knew not how to play.

But why? Was it to solve all the mysteries that lie on the floor of the ocean? Was it to become a mystery myself?
You did not tell me then, that mysteries do not sink to the bottom, they float on the surface of consciousness working to choke you.

You did not tell me then, that mermaids dont always sing.