Wednesday, 31 August 2011
She can swim. She knows she can, she's done it before. But she knows her limitations too. She's not a strong swimmer, not by any stretch of the imagination. Enough to get by, if she must.
Normally she avoids going out too deep, too far from the sides or the shoreline. Tries to stay nice and close, so she can escape if she needs to, take herself elsewhere.
She's out a bit deeper today. Has been slowly floating that way for a while now and has only just realised how far out she's gotten. She can still see the shoreline, but only just. She can't see anyone recognisable. There's noone out there with her. It is silent.
It is silent, just her and the huge ocean of her past. So quiet, but it feels different now. She felt it a few days ago, the change. She floated into it, without even seeing it coming, knowing it was there. Like a tug, a knot being pulled, unravelled. Pulling her further away, without her doing a thing.
And she's out there all alone now. Floating, her head just above water. She never even saw the rip coming, but once she was in it, she was powerless not to follow. Not strong enough. Not smart enough. Not detatched enough. Not anchored enough.
So out she floats. Back out to where she spent so long. Where the water laps at her face and sometimes she just thinks about letting herself go back under.