(no subject)
Walking out to the edge, putting one foot so carefully in front of the other, you stop on the edge. Everything drops away in front of you and you breath faster. Ragged breaths, each one pulling at you, up from your stomach, rattling in your throat. Don't breath too deeply, you might fall. Your fingers tingle, you raise your arms and hold yourself. Feel your weight shift forward, then back again. Forward, then back. Brace your legs, bend your knees, tense your muscles. Your weight shifts forward again and your feet leave the ground. One arm wrapped around yourself, one hand holding your nose, the world tilts away from you, and you wonder. Did you jump high enough, far enough, are you going to land on the rocks? How could you have done this? And then you're hanging in space, in a moment that never ends. Nothing touches you but the warm air. It rushes past you, tangling in your hair, pulling the protectively wrapped arm away, and high into the air. You feel every inch of your skin heated by the sun, cooled by the wind, tingling with adrenaline. Nothing could touch you now.
And then your feet touch the water. One is flat and hits with a slap, stinging, and the water breaks to allow you through. The other foot is pointed and slips in, unnoticed, calm. The water swallows you; feet, knees, thighs, stomach, breasts, neck and finally your head. You plunge through the water, hurtling down, sure to meet the bottom. But you slow, and stop, and your muscles unclench. You let go of your nose, and your limbs stretch out around, a starfish in the cool blue-green darkness. You linger for the space of a heartbeat and then you are shooting up, pulling yourself to the surface, muscles working again in prefect unison. You break the surface, half out of the water, thrashing your head, kicking up, gasping in the first air you've had in years. Your head dips under once more, but you have command of yourself, of the water, and the air, you can make it all work for you, do as you need, as you want. You surface for the last time, body singing with the exhilaration of being alive, of being young, of being healthy.
The world slows for just a moment, willing, this once, to let you linger in this perfect place. Face to the sun, body cushioned by the warm water, the breeze gentle now, instead of a hurricane, everything slows. Take this moment. Hold it, love it, cherish it, then let it go, and begin the long swim to shore.
And then your feet touch the water. One is flat and hits with a slap, stinging, and the water breaks to allow you through. The other foot is pointed and slips in, unnoticed, calm. The water swallows you; feet, knees, thighs, stomach, breasts, neck and finally your head. You plunge through the water, hurtling down, sure to meet the bottom. But you slow, and stop, and your muscles unclench. You let go of your nose, and your limbs stretch out around, a starfish in the cool blue-green darkness. You linger for the space of a heartbeat and then you are shooting up, pulling yourself to the surface, muscles working again in prefect unison. You break the surface, half out of the water, thrashing your head, kicking up, gasping in the first air you've had in years. Your head dips under once more, but you have command of yourself, of the water, and the air, you can make it all work for you, do as you need, as you want. You surface for the last time, body singing with the exhilaration of being alive, of being young, of being healthy.
The world slows for just a moment, willing, this once, to let you linger in this perfect place. Face to the sun, body cushioned by the warm water, the breeze gentle now, instead of a hurricane, everything slows. Take this moment. Hold it, love it, cherish it, then let it go, and begin the long swim to shore.