June 27, 2010
I always wanted to swim out further than I should,
for I loved the white-capped ocean waves.
You always knew that I would drown,
yet you let me swim so far.
I didn't understand then,
why you let me swim,
or why when I would look to shore,
you had gone.
I didn't understand the ocean,
or the torment in its soul,
so when it shook me,
I let it pull me under;
I let it batter me until I was blind,
and maybe that's why
I didn't see you,
swimming next to me.
The ocean saddened me,
and its pain made me hate you,
for I thought you were the cause.
And so on the nights I almost died,
the nights I surrendered to the waves,
I never realized that it was your hands that saved me,
and not the shore.
So when I was strong enough to face the waves again,
it was you who taught me how to swim.
And though you never mentioned it,
I know you always had your arms around me,
keeping the waves from swallowing me;
and even when I couldn't see you,
I know that you never left.

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