This heatwave has me wrung out, wrinkled, longing for something cool and salty and running over limbs. I picture the sea.
I picture the sea on subway platforms and bus stops. During those moments when I step into frigid AC and the perplexing prospect of feeling cooler disappoints. Waiting for that temperature to become one with mine, breathing slowly, picturing the sea.
I picture myself under the sea, in a brocade of seaweed. Its cool fingertips around my legs and neck. I picture the glare and burn of the surface at safe and appealing distance. My eyes open and all the green and blue and the sodden dance of it around me.
It's my only defence, picturing the sea.