Some places come back to us the moment we think of them. Places we once belonged to, inseparable, for a single, unforgettable moment or a fleeting lifetime.
Those places belong to us, even from afar. They flood our senses. All we have to do is close our eyes.
The whisper of the waves. The salty breeze against our skin. Sand slipping between our toes… The sea. Ever changing. Forever sovereign.
I walk barefoot along the shore. My feet leave a trail the waves are quick to erase. One after another, they return to kiss my footprints until they disappear. As if nothing should disturb the sand… They gather up my past and fold it into the whole, an endless flow without a trace. As if the sea knew something we so easily forget. That everything passes. That everything comes back.
I sit on the sand, still warm beneath me, as the sun begins to sink toward the horizon. I know the air will soon turn cold, but I can't bring myself to leave before the day's final blaze of glory. I savor the last amber rays of sunset. Their beauty lingers before my eyes.
And for a moment, I am sun and light and sunbeam and sea and sand… Etched and erased at once…
The sea, now dark, rises in gentle swells. The breeze keeps tugging at my scarf.
"I'll be back tomorrow," I tell myself.
…
The sea is waiting for you. It has all the time in the world. It is your silence and your roar, your passion and your peace. It is yours alone, yet never yours to keep. Your footprint and your echo. Everything. What you once had, what you left behind, what is yet to come.
Sometimes it soothes you. Sometimes it stirs you, bringing back something you thought you'd lost. A memory. A desire. The longing for a love without a name, a love from the past, from the future, from forever.
Out of that un-rest came Caracola, one of the poems in Compás de espera · Variaciones de una fuga. A poetry collection that has been rewriting itself this fall, licking its wounds, ruffling its verses, bringing its images to life, setting free the notes, chords, and rhythms hidden within its emotions…
Poems like Caracola have traveled beyond the page to become songs, taking on different forms, waiting for you to listen, for your sea to meet mine… Three versions, three ways of giving voice to the same flame, the same act of listening, the same longing.
I've left them in Listening Room, my private space at AnyWayEva, because I still haven't decided which one to share with the world. I'd love for you to be part of that decision. To listen without rushing and tell me which one moves you, which one surprises you, which one you'd play again…
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And if you'd like to discover the original words of Caracola, before they became music, you'll find the poem in the pages of Compás de espera · Variaciones de una fuga.
A book of many other poems, exploring the seasons of love, the art of falling and rising again, the battles we fight with ourselves and against ourselves, the courage to grow beyond who we were, to dream again, to desire again…
→ Discover Compás de espera on Amazon
As for me, I return to the sea, with my words, my heart, my thoughts… like someone coming home after battle, ready at last to surrender to sleep.
Eva
AnyWayEva · Words · Music · Stage · anywayeva.com · @anywayeva
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