Being in love is hard for me.
I have friends who have always lived near the ocean.
When they were too young to remember,
their bodies were placed in the push and pull of the tide.
Of course they fell in love with that sensation;
how could you not?
It is majesty unsurpassed,
great home of our ancestors,
the promise of an escape from gravity’s jealous weight.
My coastal friends, they swim with powerful strides.
Some play in the surf, rolling on the rise and fall of the wave.
Some dive down; glimpsing the deep, secret peace of true immersion.
I have known these experiences, visiting the ocean when I can.
I have been claimed by the sea.
When I die you’ll find salt in my bones.
But I found the ocean late in life.
My lungs are scared of drowning.
My legs flail without direction.
I flounder in the great tide,
afraid of getting in over my head,
chasing horizons in boots made of lead.
Love is water I struggle to tread.
I am a writer by passion looking to wander my mind and bring out parts of it that reflect something universal. My blog is wordsmeaningthings.wordpress.com.
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