We exist in the stories we tell, in the space between our truth and reality.
Your words are a siren song and my pulse syncs with the cadence. I hear what you say and I hear what you mean. Words can be slippery things. They splash in and out of context, only partially surface, and you can’t help but wonder what remains hidden below.
Mermaids didn’t wear goggles and I didn’t either. It was worth the stinging redness, swimming with naked eyes wide open to the sun shimmering down through the water. I’d twist and twirl, my hair flying loose, smooth and sleek. Underwater I was beautiful.
I am a sucker for a fantastical tale. The Witte Museum in San Antonio, Texas, has a showcase of mythic creatures. These creatures of legend are as mysterious as they are alluring. How can you gather the full story if the mythic authors no longer exist? These storytellers breathed beings to life, left us to trace the outlines that remain. We can read the signs but we’ll never know for certain. They continue to exist in our minds …