Submerge

It’s quite agonizing to have stories inside you that are still untold. 

I’ve been visiting our neighborhood pool to swim in the mornings when the sun is low. I’m not a lark, so I find it the most refreshing way to wake. 

When I started swimming, my body moved awkwardly and out of sync. The more I went, the more fluid I became. 

Today, on my fifth lap, it all clicked. My legs kicked gracefully, I no longer feared whether my splash was too much. My arms propelled me forward in a graceful motion like a bicycle tire or a windmill. Every so often I lifted my face to the horizon to take my breath in. All I could see were sparkles shimmering from the sunrise on the water. 

When it comes to writing stories as of late, I am constantly dipping my toe in the water, and quickly backing away, afraid I’ll sink. But I’ve been drowning here, in the air. 

So now I’ll dive deeper, down with the sea nymphs. I‘ll scavenge the deepest blues of my blues. I’ll come up for air when it’s late and the moon is full.

 I’ll tell stories from my time down there. And when my head hits the pillow, I’ll dream of that place, and I’ll anticipate the next morning when I can dive again.