The Swimmer

by Matt Triewly


A tease...

I am swimming in the sea and I feel strong. Powerful. But not as strong and as fit as I once was.

Long ago I had hope for the future. Long ago.

I draw myself through the water against the current and know that I can choose, at any moment, to turn and drift with the flow. Anytime. Easy.

The wavelets splash in my face. I can taste the salt.

I turn my head to the beach. Golden sand. Golden hair. Golden flesh. Golden people. Golden ice creams. Golden sun. Golden times. Ah yes, I remember them.

So near the shore yet so far.

So near the shore yet so far.

So easy.

Yes, so easy just to turn, to drift... with the current.

I bring my arms together, pull them apart, feel the tension in my biceps, kick out and move forward against the flow.

You see, I can do that. I am strong. But not as strong as I once was.

Fragments. Whispers.

It would be so easy, just to turn, to drift with the current, and become the current. So easy. And no one would see, no one would care.

Blue and gold and green.

Blue and gold and green.

Blue and gold and green.

Can you see what I see? Can you?

The whispered invitation. Soft. Subtle. Of the sea...

So easy. So easy.

I turn and surrender to the current, as I knew I would, then turn again. For the shore. The golden beach. The golden people.

It was good to tease. The tide. The current. Destiny...

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