I walk up the subway steps. I am home.
The thunder cries and the lighting flashes and flickers
The grey skies unbind themselves and the rain then falls,
I run to hide but the rain has touched me,

Marking the time to write. And remember.

I sit on my bed in a room in Bedstuy in Brooklyn in New York
With the window open, listening out to the memories of Barbados,

The last week of April of two thousand and four,
Heaven is a small island in the Caribbean on Earth in a solar system
In the Milky Way,

I remember nighttime strolls on the beach, white soft sands reflecting
The moon, the God of all motions and notions, the ocean waves, warm like bathwater,
The only sound crashing and foaming, and the gentle midnight breeze, the stars like

Sugar, my sister and my parents close by, friends and strangers,
Girls in gowns, men in suits, all barefoot, dancing, laughing, like reinvented memories…

We all thought we knew love. Myself included.
That summer had belonged to Sebastian.

I walk alone on this dreamscape beach alone with the stillness of a
Moment, wishing a moment meant eternity instead of a memory.

The week ended with the falling of the rain, touching me as I ran to hide.
It was during my week away Sebastian decided to stop being in love with me.

I am still here on a bed in a room in Bedstuy… thinking about Barbados.
Thinking about words. Thinking about lovers. Thinking of the wetness
Of Heaven.