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Vladimir Yelin Mermaid in Love Chapter 6. Farewell Along the shore, folks strolled with ease, And some swam out through morning light. Kids played beneath the palms and breeze— Their laughter dancing, clear and bright. The rival now was far below, His silver tail a final gleam. The painter, dazed and moving slow, Returned to sea, lost in a dream. The mermaid found him near the tide, She wrapped around him, soft and warm. The world around could fade and slide— With her, he felt beyond all harm. She kissed him deep—so fierce, so free— A touch that burned, then calmed his soul. Their eyes held worlds no man could see, Their thoughts entwined in silent flow. They spoke of life beneath the waves, Of ocean homes and reef-bound dreams. And why, on land where chaos raves, No one believes in gentle things. “How do you speak?” he dared to ask. “We sing in tones and sacred air. No human book can match the task Of how we talk, or how we care.” “And human thoughts?” he asked again. “Your minds are chords—we tune right in. From sea to land, from deep to plain, We ride the wave beneath your skin.” “We speak with dolphins, fish, and kelp, With plants that glow in deepest sea. No space or depth can ever help To hide a thought or feeling free.” “And yes,” she said, “we teleport— To rivers, coasts, or canyon streams. No scholar knows this sacred art, Not even in their wildest dreams.” He asked, “But why choose me at all? We’re not the same—you’re born of sea.” She leaned in close, then let her gaze fall: “I want a child… part human, part me.” And with a playful flick and grin, She vanished into ocean’s fold. Her voice came back upon the wind: “I’ll come again—storm, calm, or cold.”
Vladimir Yelin Mermaid in Love Chapter 6. Farewell Along the shore, folks strolled with ease, And some swam out through morning light. Kids played beneath the palms and breeze— Their laughter dancing, clear and bright. The rival now was far below, His silver tail a final gleam. The painter, dazed and moving slow, Returned to sea, lost in a dream. The mermaid found him near the tide, She wrapped around him, soft and warm. The world around could fade and slide— With her, he felt beyond all harm. She kissed him deep—so fierce, so free— A touch that burned, then calmed his soul. Their eyes held worlds no man could see, Their thoughts entwined in silent flow. They spoke of life beneath the waves, Of ocean homes and reef-bound dreams. And why, on land where chaos raves, No one believes in gentle things. “How do you speak?” he dared to ask. “We sing in tones and sacred air. No human book can match the task Of how we talk, or how we care.” “And human thoughts?” he asked again. “Your minds are chords—we tune right in. From sea to land, from deep to plain, We ride the wave beneath your skin.” “We speak with dolphins, fish, and kelp, With plants that glow in deepest sea. No space or depth can ever help To hide a thought or feeling free.” “And yes,” she said, “we teleport— To rivers, coasts, or canyon streams. No scholar knows this sacred art, Not even in their wildest dreams.” He asked, “But why choose me at all? We’re not the same—you’re born of sea.” She leaned in close, then let her gaze fall: “I want a child… part human, part me.” And with a playful flick and grin, She vanished into ocean’s fold. Her voice came back upon the wind: “I’ll come again—storm, calm, or cold.”