St. Martin Without Time

Oh, what a name in St. Martin. Sitting by those crashing waves. The moonlight, the stars.

Bohemian vibrations in a jungle of translucent echoes

The sea salt wisping in the air and crystallizing on our wet hair

My sister and I looked over into the vast night and slow waves

Hanging by the edge of the pool, our swimsuits caught onto the scratchy edges

Legs freely coursing through the water in a giggle-like frenzy

We were the last to stay in the pool

Our dad was back at the room.

It was our time.

Just us, my sis and I, where we could dream freely, limitlessly, and speak openly

The buoyancy made the heavier things nonexistent.

The snickering and closeness that only sisters know, the ocean still could listen in on

We could cast our dreams onto the sea, and somehow, they’d find their way back to us

And the future we hadn’t yet crossed in that night sky

It was a privilege, a gift we did not know we had

Those waves held onto our secrets better than anyone could.

Those nights held the promise

A knowing void full of potential and possibility

We didn’t know how our lives would untangle and unravel

The twists, the turns

That our father wouldn’t always be there

On that velvet night.

Stars out, telling us that anything was possible and to stay longer

Because if we could capture this moment, if we could hold onto the magic in it and take it with us, then we would always have a place to come back to—a sea to hold us and stars to bring us home.

It was a moment rich without any time attached.

The best moments are without time.