Tabula Rasa

Losing the buoyancy of my breath I slipped under the water. I kicked back up, my legs feeling cold and stiff. My mouth rose above the surface, I inhaled. We locked eyes, but we were too tired to speak, our energy focused on treading water. Kicking. Kicking. Kicking constantly against the desperate hands drawing me down, I exhaled. The sound of rain hitting water faded, replaced by the the infinite ocean pressing against me, holding me. A jealous lover coaxing me to remain. I kicked it away. I inhaled. We’d rowed for so long. Rowed away from everything. Rowed from desperation, from regret. From shelter. Safety. We rowed for so long we forgot what it was like to not row. Then she was gone. Overboard, into the sea. So I dove; I swam; I grasped; I clung; I saved. The boat was gone. I exhaled. Under the water the fear, the cold, slipped away. Here it was safe. An embrace, longing me to stay. I refused. I kicked. I broke the surface. I inhaled. She was gone. I desperately scanned the surface. She was gone. I tried calling her but nothing came out. She was gone. I exhaled.