and i didn’t think i could swim.
i was scared of the deep, scared of the dark, scared of seaweed grabbing at my legs, tendrils uncertain and doubtful.
you threw me a life jacket and i wrapped myself in it so tight, treading water, coughing on salt that feels like tears running down your cheeks on a sunday night.
i thought love was meant to be hard, temporary, fast and flashing like screaming fireworks on the fifth of november, burning out after a wild run.
falling into a river with a puff of smoke and disappointed bystander.
but it is deep and cold and calm.
but now i can swim so deep in infatuation and why would i stop?
because my skin feels softer when i am wrapped in the waves and my hair flies free behind me as you pull me in.
i am light, i am young, i am worthy of the moonlight glinting on the surf,
and as long as i am under your light, under your lapping lullabies, i am the lucky one.
pull me in deeper and i will never leave the beach.
why would i walk away when the rest of my life is so close, so beautiful, so perfectly within reach?