It is as if I am stood knee deep in a shallow sea, basking in the calm warmth, waving to the shore when the memory of love hits me like a surging wave, risen up behind me to crash down with all the might the hurtling planet can summon.
I am submerged. Sucked down into the light-flecked depths, drawn into the swirling dark. Gasping in shock, my lungs fill with salted black sorrow. I ache. For the air, the light. For her. Sustaining, buoyant, love.
How much I loved her. I had never known the power of love. That is could sweep you out to sea; convey you beyond reason; beyond safety out into the expanses of the ocean.
Fear. Is what drowns you. To escape the clutch of the deadly current, you must be calm, you must follow the whims of its turning, swim with it, take your time. To struggle is to tire, to drown.
Love and fear are opposites. They fight. I wish that I had let love win. I wish I had let the current take me. Instead, I fought against it. Drowned.
I lost her. I discarded her. I drowned our love.
Now, I am cursed, like the sea, to repeat the same motions, to rest my aching head on the shore for a moment, then to be drawn back into the morass. The ever shifting morass.