I’ve always loved the ocean.

Better yet, any body of water really.

They say when you grow up near the water, you find yourself gravitating toward it for the rest of your life,

doing all you can to avoid being landlocked.

Maybe it’s the Sagittarius in me,

constantly fighting my way toward freedom,

breaking from anything that dared hold me hostage.

Or maybe it’s my free spirit,

eager to roam and explore,

to ebb and flow through life.

Or maybe,

just maybe,

it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic,

and I believe water is how love should be,

how love should feel.

Your sins wash away, floating in a cradle of comfort,

feeling secure even if it’s not quite safe.

The tide tends to get a little rocky now and then,

but you learn how to swim,

and the more you do it, the better you get.

And you’re treading water through the thickest storms,

and dead-man-floating when the water’s warm, and 

the waves sweep you away back to shore,

and steady ground,

and sandy feet,

and crabs,

and algae,

and seaweed,

and all the little things,

that wash away,

as soon as you dive back in.

Maybe I love the water because it envelopes you in a cocoon of ‘now’.

I hear the lapping as her lips sing me to sleep,

I find myself drowning peacefully

because to drown in her love

is to be alive in the tide.

To be awake in the waves,

to be ... free,

because I believe

love should be so deep it drowns you.

But thank God you know how to swim.

Thank God you went to the edge, out on a limb.

Thank God you fell in love with Him.