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before the rushing waters flooded our coastal town set atop harbor cliffs, the cerulean waves receded like my blanket on glum monday mornings
before the summer sun bereaved the saturated skies the winds spirited a silent muse of spiriting winds carrying crystalline sand lingering scent of sea at the bridge between my nose and dry-laundry-lips salt air strokes over rosewater cheeks calm like dawn breaking into day
clouds of grey swirled overhead lightning bolted through the skies in shattering glistens of optic fibre then the water rushed in foaming waves unfurling from the ocean pulsating as they crashed into us like the pulse beating harder in my veins screams serenaded in echoes and the slow insertion of dread kept my feet kicking water, cold my face warm from adrenaline and tears
the sea swallowed me whole and buried me with debris; all i felt was the suffocating need to breathe i thought i had befriended death when all i wanted was out from a town that held my whole life
but nothing scared me more than the thought of no air, of being engulfed in fluid darkness with untraced miles of water under me. how could i feel anything but thick pressure when i was drowning in compressed fear
image: Hokusai, The Great Wave Off Kanagawa, 1820–1831.
