Consistency: What Is It?

Hearing the waves crash,
I can sense the irritation.
Nothing is consistent.
The sound, or the movement,
Or the way it hits the shore.

I crave consistency,
I crave the quiet,
I crave noise,
I crave nothing and want everything.
Something is missing.

I can’t put my finger on it,
Neither can he.
He never meets my expectations yet he exceeds all of them.
He’s under me and he’s above me.
He’s nothing to me yet he’s everything.
Something is missing.

I’m always in need of something.
It’s harrowing to hate what I need most
When what I want is under my steps.
It surrounds me, it’s in his dreams at night,
It’s the look in his eyes,
It’s him.

But it isn't.

Tasting the water I drink,
I notice the texture.
It’s soft and wet.
But yesterday, it was dry.
The water I drink is the same from the crashing shore,
It’s something I love to hate.
He is something I love to hate.

He senses my irritation
As I listen to him crash.
He crashes into me yet completely misses.
His sound, his movement, and the way he hits the shore.
He is missing, he is here, he is mine.
But he isn’t.

By Izzie Ramos-Foley

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