The last time I craved loss was when the wet sand melted between my open fingers, drifting through the gaps to pile in shreds on my crossed thighs. I waited, lying limp among the seaweed and sand dunes, for the tide to reach me and wash this all away so my body would be borne again—just this once in an entirely unbiblical sense, I would be free from clinging penance, would shed my consequences and race back up the beach in the open air, crisp and new. But the tide was pulling out, and I watched as wave after wave meandered up the coast yet stretched further and further back. I wanted this all to go away, and yet I would keep it. And my choices would stick to me like a second skin, while the ocean watched as I carried my burdens.
Julia Dath is a writer from the Philadelphia area with a B.A. in writing from Ithaca College. Her work has appeared in Pile Press, Stillwater Magazine, Applause Literary Journal, and Buzzsaw Magazine. She discusses all things literary on her blog, juliasbookshelves.com.
Image: “Swarms” from The Dollar Store Estate Sale Collection
Pine Hills Review 