The sea was silver in the sun today and Vera's calm energy poured over me into the ocean waves. The coldness and the salt smell and the tug and receding sand under my feet brought me joy and loosened the constriction in my throat.
On my 25th birthday, I cliff jumped and swam and Brooks called me a fish like all my loved ones do.
Then he smiled and said, 'and I'm a fisherman, that's how I got you.'
The fisherman and his fish.
Only he always lets his fish go after he puts that sharp hook in them, then tears it out of their flesh. He does it for the thrill, not the fish.
While he casts his net, smiling, green eyes flashing, the line sailing out with the whip zip zip, the fish bleeds out into the water as it swims on its way.
And the fisherman never sees.
