Breathing Underwater

7/18/15

I used to love swimming. I would slide underwater and let the waves wash away my hesitations. I would float down rivers until I reached the end of myself and dive into chlorinated too-blue pools that burned away my pain, always remembering a sign over the outdoor pool where I grew up. 

 

"Welcome to our OOL. Notice there's no P in it... let's keep it that way."

 

I would sit six feet underwater until my lungs ached for oxygen and I wished that I could breathe under oceans.. I wonder, do mermaids ever wish to walk on land and feel hot and cold sand squish between their toes? Maybe I just take my feet for granted, but I wanted so desperately to never leave the water. 

 

I don't remember how old I was when I first started to cry -- not those childish temper tantrum type tears that bled for attention, no, these were never ending aches for something other than whatever it was I felt. I cried out all of the water I had absorbed over the years of underwater escapades and I sobbed until my chest was numb and swollen and I couldn't breathe. 

 

I cried until my body started to shrivel, and I wasn't sure how my body could be holding any more liquid other than blood, and then I tried to cry that out, too. I exhausted my eyes and pushed out my pain so I could swim in something other than tears, and I breathed out my life breath so my memories could live in my surroundings.