It is evening and I am looking out my window, the recently storm-washed patio is aglow with pearly light. I step into it as it spills all over me, the path to the beach, and the sand. I am in a theatre and the stage light is a clotted cream disk streaming down from above.
Out at sea the large parked drill ship is dressed like a Christmas tree with an unnecessary abundance of red, yellow and orange lights all over it. There is a low barely audible thudding coming from it. For no discernible reason every 10 days or so it decides to de-anchor and drive out to sea, only to return a day later. For the first month I would be intrigued by it's hulk taking centre stage in the bay. It is now a source of frustration. It is ugly and the thudding sound, though barely audible, runs all day and night. It is called the Tungsten Explorer and is 238m long.
Tungsten I've just discovered has the highest melting point of any element at 3,422°C, it boils at 5,555°C. Neil Young was mining for a heart of gold, which has a fairly high melting point at 1,063°C. I wonder what my heart's melting point is? I have been known to have meltdowns in my life over not too strenuous episodes. But a meltdown isn't the same as melting, and is more about the mind than the heart. Perhaps I am aluminium?
On stage a shifting passage of silver is running across the sea into my eyes. It's brilliance grows more intense the closer to the horizon. It is spring tide bulging towards the moon. The scene is a painting of my heart, where a passage of your light is spilling in from the inside, calling tides of sorrow to freedom. You are a far away moon that never wanes.
I walk back to my one bedroom apartment and warm milk up in a briki, add two teaspoons of cocoa powder, a dollop of carob syrup and a dash of turmeric. I stir it as it warms up. Steam is starting to rise. I watch closely as it heats up, turning the gas off at just the right time before it boils over. I'm getting better at making coffee and hot chocolate in this way. It's one thing to melt the cocoa powder, but when it boils over it's a mess.
It's one thing that you are warm enough to melt my aluminium heart from a distance, but it'll be a mess if we get too close.
You are my melting point.
The point into which I cannot help myself from melting.
The bay's back is bending to her.
