Sea

I lean out the window and see the sea:

Clouds drift by and the waves fade into dusk.

I watch the stars pass and the sand breathe.

The moon, distant and concealed, gazes on in solitude.

A flash appears, and suddenly everything, bathed in light, reveals itself.

There — sighs the water with the breath of the wind —

upon the sea has appeared a majestic silver bridge.

To set foot upon a road without return and without sleep.

You leave me here to watch, and without giving me an answer,

you lead me to wonder:

For whom have you appeared, and where do you lead on your journey?

In the silence of this summer night, I hear the sea calling to me.

It asks whether I can hear it, whether I can feel it, whether I long for it.

I wonder if it is real, if I am only dreaming, or if I have simply gone mad.

Despite the anguish, I feel irresistibly curious.

There is something in the air that calls to me, that draws me toward it.

But upon my chest I feel a heavy sigh telling me no.

It tells me not to go, to remain here, that I can only watch.

The icy blades of the wind cut into my skin, wound me, yet I accept them.

The thin clouds move swiftly; they reveal the shining stars and, at the same time, paint the dark night sky.

The moon allows itself to be unveiled so it may be seen, brightening the darkness of the night.

A faint mist surrounds the bridge, growing thicker and thicker, preventing me from studying it and concealing its beauty.

I smell a sandy, metallic scent — the sea itself — delicate, yet heavy at the same time.

It suddenly fills me with nostalgia.

I have smelled this scent before, this exact scent… but where?

The bridge seems immense, even from so far away.

The mist embraces the lampposts that barely emerge from it, yet they glow faintly beneath the moonlight.

I can scarcely see them, but I still notice how majestic and elegant they are, lighting the path with a warm, dim radiance.

The bridge is an extremely pale gray, shimmering with the reflections of the sky and the sea.

It does not seem to be made of stone or wood, though its structure would suggest so.

It feels more like a precious metal.

The restless, furious waves hurl themselves against it, yet they do not leave the slightest mark.

It is far too massive and imposing to collapse so easily.

And it remains there, motionless, waiting.

Just as I remain here, still and waiting.

The sudden sound of the alarm clock on the bedside table pulls me back to reality.

I turn away for only a moment to switch it off, but in that single moment everything changes.

The instant I look away, turning my back to the moon, I see the first rays of sunlight painting the walls of my room a deep orange.

I turn around and rush to look outside at once — leaning so far out that I nearly fall from the second floor — my heart filled with hope, pounding relentlessly.

But by then, it is already too late.

The night has vanished, and the bridge with it — that silent road, gone without leaving a trace behind.

I feel my body trembling and sweating; icy shivers run through me in sudden, violent waves of cold.

I feel fear rising. My body will not move.

I stare outside, fixed on what lies before me, unable to understand.

The sun rises over the sea, calm beneath the gentle morning breeze, shining upon a new, warm, endless summer day.

The clouds have disappeared, leaving room only for the slowly emerging sun.

The seagulls drift alongside the wind, which carries the distinct scent of clean air and freshly baked pastries from the cafés nearby.

The silence gives way to the bustle of the morning; among neighbors, workers, and tourists, the stillness of the night has come to an end.

It is as though it never happened, as though I had only imagined it.

I blink, and now it feels as though I have returned to the real world.

My eyes are dry, and I can feel exhaustion overwhelming me.

I collapse onto the bed and finally close my eyes.

They burn terribly, as if I had kept them open for hours.

I feel utterly drained; my body is sweaty and sticky, and the cool morning air makes me shiver.

My eyes burn so badly that I cannot keep them open, and my head spins so violently that I feel as though it might explode.

My temples throb, and the weight of exhaustion presses down on me.

Did I really spend the entire night awake, staring out the window?

No, that cannot have truly happened. I must have dreamed too intensely and slept badly — that is why I am so tired.

And yet the bed is still perfectly neat and untouched, the sheets not even slightly creased.

My pajamas are still folded on the bed, the television is still on, and the cigarette I had been smoking has burned itself out in the ashtray.

“A good cup of hot coffee and a nice cold shower will make everything clearer.

I’ll finally wake up from all of this.

Not thinking about it will help — maybe work will distract me enough. I’ll feel better.”

That is what I tell myself, trying to recover from this mad night.

But the truth is that not even for a single moment did I stop thinking about it.

All day long, I will wait for the coming of the night.

And I wonder if it will return, if I will see it again, and if this time something will happen.

And above all… what.

When I arrived at work, things did not go as well as I had hoped. The shower and the coffee had not helped at all.

As soon as I arrive and park in front of the office, beneath the early morning sun, I stare at the building, still seated in my car.

I am already sweating — and heavily. My brown hair is soaked, dripping enough to wet my forehead and face.My white shirt — with only the company logo embroidered on it — is now drenched and clings to me, especially across my back and beneath my arms.Even between my thighs, inside my blue linen trousers, I feel an unpleasant dampness.

My face is flushed red. And the growing feeling of discomfort and embarrassment does not help in the slightest.

Even though I am wearing very light clothes and the air conditioning in the car is on, after only ten minutes of driving the heat pressing against me feels suffocating.I am used to the climate here — I was born and raised in it — and honestly, today is not even that hot.

I take a deep breath and gather the courage to step out of the car.

The moment I set foot outside, a gentle breeze brings me immense relief from the oppressive heat I feel clinging to me. It carries the sweet scent of flowers, colorful and vivid, from the flowerbeds lining the sidewalks.

I enter the four-story building, completely renovated inside and out.Its style is modern, but not cold — sober yet refined. It was refurbished only a few years ago.

During a period when I wasn’t working, I remember many of us were on vacation, but not much else. It feels like there is a gap in my memory.

At reception, Clare is there. I greet her with a small wave and keep walking — I don’t want her to see me like this. I feel wrecked, truly in a bad state. I hear her greet me in the distance as I head straight for the elevators.

One is in use, but the other is already free. I step inside and immediately start pressing the third-floor button in a frantic way — the one for my department, where my desk and colleagues are.

The doors close and I begin to rise. My blood pressure seems to drop quickly, and I slump against the wall, gripping the handrail as I look into the mirror.

I look awful. My face looks like that of a dead man. I am pale gray except for my forehead and cheeks, which are a deep red. I feel like I am dying.

I at myself and feel pathetic. I need something to recharge me — maybe food. But even the thought of it makes my stomach churn immediately, and I barely manage to hold back a wave of nausea.

I notice I’ve passed the second floor. I try to steady myself, but breathing feels increasingly difficult, even though it’s the only thing I can still attempt to control.

As soon as the doors open, I rush straight to the bathroom — almost running down the corridor ahead of me. I completely ignore Mark, who I hear greeting me from the break room.

I enter and immediately collapse onto the first free toilet I see and vomit. I throw up last night’s dinner, this morning’s coffee, and very little else since I didn’t eat breakfast.

In a brownish-green mixture with a bit of whitish foam on top, a sour smell rises — like spoiled cheese and decaying meat. The more I see and smell it, the less I can hold back.

But I keep vomiting my soul out, especially now that I’m only retching empty heaves. There is nothing left inside me to bring up, yet it continues — with choked sobs, spitting only foam and clear liquid.

Once it finally stops, I get up and stagger to the sink.

I look at myself in the mirror again; I am now quite pale and slightly greenish.

I refresh myself with ice-cold water, and it seems to help at least a little.

I look at the mirror again — my dark brown eyes are all red and swollen. I close them, and I immediately feel relief again.

The image of that night fixes itself in my mind: the moon and the stars, the beach and the silence, the waves and the wind, the mist and the bridge.

Oh, now I feel good!

It was enough to think about it — to see it for just an instant — to feel immediately much better.

I think of the waves, how they were raging and crashing everywhere, and now I no longer feel hot, I’m not sweating anymore.

I think of the beach, and the wind that moved across it, and now I can breathe. I feel the salty sea air filling my lungs, my hair gently shifting, cool against my skin.

I think of the full moon watching from above, and my headache fades, along with the dizziness and nausea.

I finally take a deep breath, without difficulty or strain.

I open my eyes and look at myself again.

The bridge fades from my mind, and everything returns to how it was before.

Maybe I feel a little better now, but not much.Still, at least now I know how I can feel better — how I can endure it.

I rinse my face again with icy water and mentally prepare myself to face the day.

I take another breath, with a bit of effort, but I know the bridge helps me. It gives me courage, and I start walking toward the door fairly steadily.

I support myself, left hand on the sink and right hand gripping the door handle. I close my eyes, and that image floods my mind again.

I smile, happy.

Finally, I feel light and carefree. Now I feel ready to face the day.

Written by Serena Vaci

[Translated from Italian into English, with the help of AI, I hope there are no mistakes.]