Of all the places I’ve found myself, the sea is that which is best able to cure whatever ails me. It is the one place most capable of finding my lost and repairing my broken. It is the place my mind feels most at home, feels comfortable pouring out its contents to be carried away in the waves.
It’s something about the sea and the way it comes and goes. It’s strength is understated and unrelenting as it runs in and out, falling humbly at my feet. They give and they take, they rip and they break. It’s something about the breeze and the way it smells damp and heavy. It rushes in with each intake and pump of my lungs. It soaks into my skin and settles around me. It blows cool and calmly, it whips cold and cruelly. It’s something about the sand and the way it hides in shoes and rolled-up cuffs. It flows with the tide, accepting of slow or sudden change. It clings and clutches at my feet, resisting my attempts to hurry. It pushes and pulls, it begs me to stay.
When I need a moment of reprieve, I ache for the sea, my heart and home.