There is a myth many believe to be true; that it is possible to hear the ocean by holding a conch shell to one’s ear. But this is simply a case of seashell resonance; a rushing sound that is nothing more than the noise of the surrounding environment, reverberating within the chambers.
At night, when sleep evades me once again, sometimes I pretend the pillow I am resting my head against is you. Your chest cavity becomes my conch, your blood flow the imposter of crashing waves, my ear begging to believe that these high and low tides I am hearing are real. That you are real. Your heartbeat is my Pacific, and I am drowning, and ready to let go.