the tumultuous power of water

ocean. the water reaches just under my chin as I climb to the surface, only to be pulled back under. confession:

I am afraid of the water. I am afraid of the force that it carries, the weight that it holds, the children it has dragged

deep beneath itself. I am eight years old and drunk on sunlight and the beach is the closest thing to love

that I have ever experienced. brave moments bring me out into the current and humiliation drags me under again.

it's fear that guides me, always- fear that holds me fast and cradles me like so many waves. you are looking within all of this,

trying to find driftwood to hold onto within this lukewarm saltwater I bathe you in, and I give you this answer- it is the fear of drowning

that keeps me afloat. it is the fear of darkness that brings me light. it is the fear of death that gives me life.