I Am the Wave
I wish I were the wave,
slipping between your fingers
as you wade into the sea—
my touch would dance
along your thighs,
invisible, gentle,
and you wouldn’t know it was me.
I’d become the salt in the water,
the hush of foam against your skin,
the breath of the tide
curling around your waist.
I’d kiss your body
like the ocean does:
endlessly,
softly,
without asking for anything in return.
I’d be the golden sun
as you lie down to rest,
each of my rays
falling on your chest,
caressing your skin
the way I long to—
and you wouldn’t know it was me.
I’d become the sand,
warm beneath your back,
pressing secret poems
into your spine.
I’d turn into the wind,
tangled in your hair,
into the butterfly
that lands,
quiet and weightless,
on your lips,
just for a second—
and you wouldn’t know it was me.
To love you like this,
with the patience of trees,
with the silence of stars,
with the devotion of rivers
that always return to the sea.
And when you are not here…
when you are with another,
I pray for your joy
under a sky you’ll never see me in.
I wait for you—
not because I hope,
but because I love you.
And I love you…
without a word.
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This piece is not simply a drawing — it’s a whisper, a caress suspended in graphite. I Am the Wave hovers delicately between form and feeling, between presence and absence.
The artist’s lines are fluid, almost shy, as if drawn by memory or dream. The body, though suggested, is never overt. Instead, it dissolves into space like a thought unspoken — tender, ephemeral, and deeply human. Every curve seems to echo the rhythm of tides, of breath, of longing.
Rendered in black and white, the image holds no distraction — only essence. There is a haunting intimacy in this restraint, a sense of closeness that doesn’t rely on clarity. This is a visual whisper, an emotional tide that brushes the viewer softly, yet deeply.
Paired with its poem — where the narrator longs to become wave, sand, sunlight, butterfly — the drawing becomes a secret love letter. A meditation on desire, distance, and devotion.
It’s not a portrait. It’s a feeling made visible.
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Dans cette œuvre, l’artiste effleure la frontière entre le visible et l’invisible, entre le geste et l’intention. Je suis la vague n’est pas seulement un dessin — c’est une caresse figée, un souffle secret murmuré à même le papier.
Par un trait doux, presque flottant, le corps se fond dans un paysage intérieur. Rien n’est appuyé, tout est suggestion : une ligne s’estompe comme une pensée qui ne veut pas être saisie. Le féminin ici n’est ni exposé ni caché — il est évoqué, livré dans sa vulnérabilité fluide, comme l’eau, comme le désir.
Le choix du noir et blanc renforce cette sensation d’intimité silencieuse. Aucun artifice, juste l’essentiel : le mouvement d’un être vers un autre. L’œuvre dialogue parfaitement avec le poème associé — être la vague, le sable, le papillon… — autant de métaphores d’un amour discret, profond, inavoué.
On est devant un dessin qui respire, qui touche sans bruit, et qui, comme la mer, revient inlassablement frôler l’âme du spectateur.
