Middle, by Cole Garry

I can see the ocean.

I can see the vast, endless ocean, and maybe, just maybe, I can see the rest of my life.

I can see the future swaying in the branches of the trees, alighted on a rare cloud, and blowing past me in the wind.

My future terrifies me.

Sliding off the mountain, crashing into rocks, falling from the sky – my dream is liquid.

My future is ephemeral, not because it is short, but because even the lightest current could derail it.

I could ignore it, dive in the freezing water, swim away and never come back – or would that be good?

Will I instead sit here, waiting for a future that will never come, one that will lap at

my feet and slowly wash away the very ground I stand on?

I want a future – any future – but I want to find it.

I want to climb the tree, fly to the cloud, and catch it in the wind.

And yet…if my future is light enough to be carried by the breeze, do I want it?

I can’t let myself be carried off into nothing, nor can I sink to the bottom of the sea. So I’m just here, I guess.

I’m just stuck under the African sun.