There are moments of gratitude. For desires unfulfilled.
The countless times I was swept off the beach and into the sea. Dove deep and touched the bottom, the sand melting through my toes. Catapulted myself back to the top and tumbled over the waves. Held still and let the rhythm of the waves set the motion of my body, defying gravity in one breath and pulled downwards in another, exhilarated and then jagged.
Do not go under. Hold your head high. I counseled myself. And the others can only watch from the shore.
The times I wished to be pulled under. How deeply I believed I could breath down there. That the sand would always melt underfoot and through my fingers, never rough or solidly unforgiving. That I could carry myself better, with more grace. My body, my thoughts, my heart, my soul - they would float. Miles down, perhaps, we would be closer to the core. Magnetism intensified and out of view from the shore, attraction interlocked, we would float on.
I am grateful to stand on the shore. Grateful I did not go under. The sand would have been rough, no softer than concrete. The currents too strong, we would have been pulled away by the undertow. Only our fingers intertwined without the strength to come any closer. I would have taken a deep breath and drown.
How deeply I believe I can breath down there. Yet, I am grateful for the certainty of the shore.
Until I am certain of the strength of the core.
