LOU RASMUS

I walked down to the beach this morning, even though I don’t live by the ocean. Or any body of water. I just walked until I heard the sound of waves in my head. The smell of salt in my nose. None of it was real, but it felt good anyways. It felt like I could step out into the water and drown myself whenever I was ready. Whenever I wanted. Only I didn’t want to. Because even though the idea of finality is appealing, I have a few reasons to stay here for now, and finish what I started. And I know that what I started isn’t much, but not much is better than nothing at all, and I’d like to see that through, whether it amounts to anything or not. Because I don’t care about pissing the farthest, I just care about pissing in general. It’s not me against you. It’s me against me against me against me. And somehow, I don’t think that I’m winning yet. The thought makes me sweat.

I open my eyes and find myself in the parking lot of a liquor store. No shoreline or beach or ocean. And I know it’s early, but I think about going in and buying a bottle. I think about it. I think about it. But then I don’t. And instead, I go home. Because I don’t feel like drowning myself yet.