At times we tumble to the bottom of the sea and lay quietly on the mossy floor. We coil in darkness, sometimes stretch in cool patches of light. We spy our reflections in warped, mottled looking glass and struggle to swim in opposite directions.
At times we stumble upon glistening treasure, unearth masked memories, open swollen doors, loosen rusty locks and break through current that nearly drowns us.
We float and sink, sink and float, continuously rising and falling at the mercy of the deep.
But it’s the times we hold hands though they are cold and unfeeling, join hearts though they are aching and unglued and fight though we are worn and tired, toward the watery sun just above our reach.
It’s the times we together break the surface, that keep us breathing. Copyright © 2013 The Wrought Writer