The view under the waves is distorted, bending the world as we know it. It crashes, murky greens into peaceful blues with an explosion muted by the space between the Sun and me. I strain to reach, my fingers grasping for the last wispy rays of a rope I could never hope to hold. Perhaps if I try to hold them tight enough, clutched in my palm until nails bite skin, the Sun will pull me above the wake as it journeys from one horizon to another. I hold my breath but the water holds me like a lover, tight without remorse. It sighs and heaves, weaving tapestries of mystery before my eyes, tempting my lips to part as it tickles my skin.
“Drink.” It sings. “Breathe.” The siren song every fiber of my being aches to succumb to floods my ears. Water tousles my hair, roughly catching it in the fine stems of seaweed beds for two. It strokes my cheeks and surrounds every part of me with suffocating romantic intents. “Let go.” It whispers.
I cling to the Sun with weakening resolve. My hands, stained with the blood of a thousand moments, are slipping down the silken rays as the water takes me into its arms. “Just breathe.” A siren song echo in my mind. The seaweed bed pricks my skin, weaving tight through my hair, restraining my arms, pulling my legs. I have no choice, the last rays of rescue slide right through my fingers as the water pushes me violently down.
“Breathe.” It sings in a voice undeniably angelic while I watch the view under the waves, distorting the world as we know it. I have found the water is a demanding lover, a suffocating romantic with murderous intent. The seaweed grips my waist, holding me steady, while I breathe.