These waves tried to swallow me once. I spat them out and kept on breathing. Salt water clung to my hair for days. My mother urged me to shower, to rinse out the silt, the sand, the memory. But the rainy droplets on my head whispered the same secrets as the waves.
It’s not that I didn’t want to hear them, it’s just that I couldn’t understand. The language of the sea was still a mystery to me.
Years have gone, I have learnt to swim. Commanding the water beneath my wings, floating on the surface as if by magic. Buoyancy has boosted my confidence.
And now I’m back, staring out over this seemingly unending sea. I see its promise, its possibilities. The horizon slightly beyond my reach. Determined to conquer, to wade in deep. With a single red umbrella, so that you can keep track of me.
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Posted to the Flash Fiction Friday website, using the photo prompt, credits: Your Hand in Mine/Goodbye. CC2photo by Tony.