It's Useless to Try to Fight the Tide

Blue tentacles curled around me, fully engulfing me. 

They shot up my nose and filled my lungs with every breath. 

My eyes burned as I tried to find safety,

but all I could see was a blur of colors crashing over me.

My limbs were reaching their limit. 

They had thrashed for hours,

futilely trying to push me to shore,

but mother ocean kept me pressed to her chest. 

The harder I fought her, 

the more she coiled around me,

pushed against me, 

flooded into me. 

I felt myself slipping away.

With the last of my strength I screamed to her:

“I surrender!”

My body stopped fighting,

and all I could do was float. 

My eyes closed as I felt her push my limp body.

Her cold tentacles brushed past me while I bobbed. 

I just bobbed and bobbed along with her.

I couldn’t fight any longer,

I knew it was a fight I couldn’t win. 

I gave into her fury

and let her take me where she pleased. 

I floated.

She rolled me.

She pushed me. 

Cascaded over me. 

I felt drunk off her salty nectar, 

off of my defiant exhaustion,

so when I felt sand graze my limp fingers, I almost didn’t notice.

I swallowed a mouthful of her in my gasp of excitement.

It was useless to fight her tide.

She would have brought me back all along.