Breathe in. Breathe out.

Imagine yourself as the ocean. Swaying so rhythmically back and forth. Leaving only the salty scent of water and sea-weed behind. The sound of seagulls watching over you so carefully as they so gracefully glide across your surface. One wave after to another so dramatic yet necessary at the same time. You don't know if it's going to swallow something up, or drag it in, but it's fearful and agitating waiting for it to crash and return. Re-building itself back up just to scare you all over again. And just when you think the wave has passed, it comes round again. Its' under-toe dragging you in further and further within yourself. And then the wave comes back as something it has never been before. It's larger, scarier, and darker. It holds more secrets of the deep ready to be washed ashore. And then it happens. You're spread so thin like icing on the sand. And there you are, alone and empty. Nothing pulling you back. You're stuck. The only thing that could happen is a young child coming along and finding you bare on the shore. You pray that he/she will come. And they do. In the form of friends and family that child comes. The child lifts you back up, and brings you home. But the child has left its' mark on you. Your oceans aren't dark and deep. They're clear and calm. The waves breath in and out onto the shore. No returns and no take backs or re-do's. That child saved you. And now like the waves, I can breathe.