The humidity here is stifling.
Stepping outside, the thickness of the air is like an assault. You feel it in your throat and in your lungs. You skin quickly slickens with a combination of sweat and the water condensing on the cool skin. Breathing, even for those without asthma, is a chore. It’s icky out there folks.
I tried to be sociable tonite. I put on a big smile and I managed to talk the talk. But in the end, I was defeated by the weather conditions. My wheezing breath was quickly descending into a cough,.
I had gone to the Brickhouse in Dover to enjoy a little karaoke silliness with friends I had not seen in a while. But my patience was quickly disapearing as my breathing got worse. I sat on a couch doing a crossword puzzle with the beautiful Miss S, both of us having a tough time trying to enjoy ourselves. I tried hard to laugh along with the singers. My laugh ending in a wet wheeze.
I’m the one who gave up.
I’m the one who left.
Miss S gave me a long hug good night. She understood my pain.
I drove down to the beach, finding the one breeze I could always rely on. My breathing relaxed as I sat on the damp sand watching the low flying clouds drift past the full moon. The thick fog washed over me, leaving my clothes damp with it’s dew. Lying back, the sky was a dull blue/gray as the moons light diffused into the passing clouds. Somewhere, a fog horn warned off any ships brave enough to be in the Gulf of Maine on a night like this. Beware of the rocks! Stay away from the shore.
Lying there in the fogs embrace, I drifted into sleep, dreaming of her touch. Wishing there was more. Knowing there wasn’t. A moment of joy as fleeting as the passing fog.
Half Full or Half Empty 