these waves are always horribly frightening. rushing, raging, overwhelming. everytime i get pulled under i'm wide-eyed, desperate, and terrified. it hurts so much, so i close my eyes and curl up, lungs screaming for air as i'm mauled by the ferocity of it all. i always hope that if i manage to get small enough that maybe it can't hurt me as bad, maybe i'll compact into something impenetrable, but my dna won't allow it. i am unmistakably made to be soft and squishy, to feel with incredible sensitivity. so then it seems to be the point of what feels like impending destruction and where i beg to claw the skin off my bones that i attempt to breathe. swirling deeper and deeper away from the surface, i fight it tooth and nail because it doesn't make sense. who the hell can breathe underwater? but i have no other choice than to suck liquid into my lungs and pray for the best.
inhale.
exhale.
no matter how many times i experience it, the surprise of breathing where no air is found always puts me in a place of awe.
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