I was in an Azerbaijan tea house at the shore of the Caspian Sea. The house was soft in texture and made of orange wood and white curtains. I went to a large window facing the slow, curved road and looked out. The water was the deepest green blue, like the woman’s glasses at the optical store back in the States merely a moment ago. I looked down at a dais made of the same, orange-colored wood and there sat an open book against its lip, a guide, old silky paper like in an expensive Bible, but it wasn’t the Bible, just a book, maybe with names, and I walked right through the window and across the road because I wanted to get closer to the water.

I looked down at the shoes I was wearing… Dress shoes in the sand that had blown onto the walkway. I thought that was strange. The shoes were made of the same orange wood as the house and dais. It was sunny out with a slight breeze tossing about in the air. The water was high and left only a narrow pathway of sand along the beach on which to walk. The light voices came through the dream there. Odd people came streaming in, gawking and pointing at how astounding the water was. Tourists. I just wanted to be alone. I wanted to be alone to just stand there and look at the water and to do nothing else ever again but love her.

By

Aaron Echoes August