I grew up blanketed in sand and saltwater, air dried by the crisp morning breeze or late afternoon rays. I wake up over and over again emerging from blue and green, who is beautiful and reckless and tragic. Much like me. I consider us pretty good friends. Acquaintances turned to family. It took my sister a bit longer to love her, but she finally did, which is one occurrence I will never understand, but decide to accept. Fins are my new feet, and from my incapability to balance I can see they belong in an underwater world, much like me. Although that world doesn’t truly exist, and the last thing I would call myself is a mermaid. Mom and Dad are waiting for me, but instead I turn to travel farther, to push and pull and drag myself out until I can’t bare it any longer. I can see the horizon, a slightly curved line that cuts the world in half. I continue to look and sit, and sit and look, and all I can see is clouds and sky and rolling hills rising and falling like my chest, which is moving faster and faster as I decide to turn around and head back. Back to reality. Because I don’t get to sit in this calm storm forever.
I get spit out again and again, and like riding a thrilling roller coaster, I decide to go back, because what’s the fun without it? So I go back and back and back until the blue and green, who is beautiful and reckless and tragic, decides I should stay. Then maybe, just maybe, I’ll have my underwater world I’ve dreamed of secretly in my much-too-blonde-to-think-anything head.