And so I wait to find some reasoning to pull me under—to allow the waves to grab hold of me and push me out into the ether of the ocean. And I will drown until sand tangles my hair and salt pumps through my veins. I will let my skin soften until it wrinkles like silk after sitting.
There is nothing more fearful than swimming in a sea that is destined to make you sink.
I can see the shore, the horizon blurring itself over blue. I can see the fray between water and land, the fine foam lace frothing on the beach. I know the ocean is perfectly calm when I reach the middle . . . if I hold my breath, if I refuse my foot from reaching the bottom.
I can close my eyes to breathe in the sun. I can let my limbs deaden into clay, numb themselves to touch. I can close my ears to the screeching of seagulls. The only voices left are the banging of my heart and the waves slapping my skin.
I fear water. I fear water because I cannot dig my toes into soil, because there is no ground to break the fall, no ground beneath the fall.