Waves and Lines
Salty air wraps around my nose like the algae covering my toes. The shore is never clear en La Habana. There’s always humidity, even in the middle of December, and the frizzy air never leaves my hair calm for long. Orange and red hues swirl with the blue sky declaring its last goodbye. Next year at this time, I will no longer feel the saltwater breeze; I will not be surrounded by the rainy nights and lively days of the Club Havana, the underwater scenes of the Caribbean Ocean. If I am a home why do I never stay anywhere? I am from everywhere and nowhere at all, floating further, fading away. Every memory begins and ends by the sea, ongoing and infinite. Jacob is not “forever”, porque ya se secó El Malecón, and the waves washed the algae away.