If every knock on the door was a ripple, if dirt slipped as sand through my fingers and if breathing was in bubbles, I’d live underwater.
I’d float all day and give one ear to the sky and its birds and the other to the humming ocean bed and tinkles of spyglass. I’d bask in the tingling noon sun and dream under a milky moon as waves would crash and cradle me.
If I had my way, I would minimalise my thinking, my worries, the need to need or be free… for floating, lying, whisking in glorified nothingness and listening to the horizon sing feels like everything and anything at the same time. It is a purity of trickles; a sleeve of effortless fluid running through crevices and bathing my bare unapologetic soul with care.
If mermaids are childish, know that the spirit of youth is the hardest to lose. If I’m mistaken, know that I’m growing, but not to conform and while I love the waves, I do miss the vales.
If this aquatic tenderness is silly, then I’d rather delve deep down into the dumb, numb sea and dance like a guppy.
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