In literature, water is often used a symbol. It represents truth, its clear surface easily seen straight through, but can also represent mystery. The translucence only lasts a certain distance toward the bottom before it turns to bone chilling darkness that chokes air from lungs, and maybe that is why it represents death. Current arms reach up from ocean floor, dragging body to bottom but seeing as water also commonly represents rebirth, a stone thrown into the sea does not fear dying. You see, water can also represent cleansing, and as the stone tumbles and scrapes across sand its sides are smoothed until there are no sharp edges left and it is washed up on shore once again, and this is water representing life. It also represents time, the currents moving on endlessly, dragging entities at a constant rate and as this current of time flows through the ocean it is easy to see how water represents the subconscious, shifting temperaments with the wind, rocking boats so far to one side that they fear they may capsize but water can also represent the tear of God. It is a place to leave regrets and sorrows for the current to take so you do not have to hold them anymore.

According to the baby name book I flipped through at my doctor's office, the name Molly means "Sea of Bitterness." I thought How ironic, that I, so small, would be named after something so powerful, but after looking below the surface I realized that I am not a body too scrawny to support such a big name, I am a body of water and I was not given to this name, this name was given to me. There are days that I feel like I am becoming someone I am not but I look down at the puddle I am standing in and know that the reflection looking back up at me is my own because I am truth, but as I look deeper into the blue of the iris it changes into a color almost black and I cannot see myself anymore. As I claw deeper into the depths of this darkness my chest cavity begins to scream for air and I swear I can feel hands around my throat but I know this ocean is only made of myself and dear god, how lonely it can be sometimes to drown on your own. I see ships gliding along the horizon line, puffing gray smoke into the air like cigars and I am angered by the carelessness with which they try to tame me so I do not comply. Clap boats between walls of water, send hurricane to collect the survivors, this is what it means to be a sailor. Currents drag them out further than they ever intended to venture alone, but I am forgiving. Interrupt frantic prayers with whispers of shoreline, but they do not give me the credit. No, they thank god, praise him for his generosity even though I am the one who spared their lives, I turn my body into a burial ground for the sins they no longer wish to carry because the ocean is supposed to be cleansing, but if you scrub enough dirt off in the water, it eventually turns to mud. As I sink deeper into this water that is actually mud that is actually myself the phrase "rock bottom" comes to mind and I hope that the floor is stones with smooth edges rather than silt, I hope I can slip these thoughts that I no longer want to face into the cracks and leave them there, I hope they do not float. The time I spent cursing storm clouds for dampening my spirits feels wasted with the realization that I, being liquid, am incapable of being dry without disappearing completely. Every time I say I am drowning I am reminded that I am the water.