Water

Swimming at night has to be probably one of the most relaxing things in the world. The feel of the water's embrace on your skin as you become fully submerged in its abyss, the sound of the ripples and breaks of surface tension, the sound, while you lay on your back, of your own breath reverberating through your body, and the sight of nothing but the water in front and around you while you are completely engulfed in darkness. To be alone, undisturbed, and one with something is what relaxes me. It clears my mind and invites peace. . . distracts from all the craziness of life. The stress of new yet unchanging situations, the conflict between myself and others and the inner conflict with myself, the anger towards myself and my actions, the never ending depression. It all just vanishes and all that is left are feelings of nothing and utter silence. I could spend forever in the water. . . just sit there and never resurface. Never have to face the challenges of life again or experience the failures and negative feelings associated with it. But alas, that isn't an option. Time eventually pulls me out and back into reality. It breaks the dream-like trance and forces me to rejoin society. The water is refreshing and renewing. It is cleansing. For some reason when I'm sad, I only ever have one desire. To feel water on my body and to feel it as it drips down my face, merging and becoming one with my own tears. It makes me feel better. I laugh because as a child my parents always told me I was a fish- never wanting to get out of the water. I laugh now because I actually question that at times. I have such an unusual desire to be in water all the time. If I am near water, I am in it. It just has such a magical sense and mystery about it. It has no true beginning and no true ending. . . it is just there and goes where it pleases.