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rising tide.

the fantasy of dry land breaks when the tide rushes in, lifting you off your feet and pushing you under, into the wave. you panic until you realize, “oh! i can swim.” tears merge with saltwater. fear and shock dissipate. reality is fluid, unfathomable, even as it holds you. this is how the body moves into new gravity. you leave behind fantasy: a shallow, sandy beach, eroding beneath your feet.

even if you don’t ever remember the moment of decision, of consent, reality still came for you. it crashed straight into you exactly when your capacity could match the energy that was always there, into what’s next.

the ocean had always been moving towards you. slowly at first, taking bits of sand, bits of the fantasy away, testing your feet and your knees and your legs, your foundation, early attachments to life on planet earth, your stance to what felt good and solid and real, to all the ways you learned to survive.

waves would come crashing in, you’d laugh and lose a bit of footing, and the tide would then rush back out. when you don’t retreat, when you keep going instead of changing your mind and working on your tan, the ocean will continue to draw you further, until one day, you’re halfway in, halfway out. that’s when the big wave comes, the one that carries you away from shore forever, away from every last bit of the old fantasy, and into the deep, into what’s real. where grains of sand become pearls and are no longer mistaken for safety.