The Sea and Love

Finding your way to the sea takes time. Finding your voice takes time and effort. You might go for love that takes away your breath. You might go for love that lets you breathe. Here are my thoughts on the last visit to the beach before the winter.

The lessons the Sea taught me about life, attitude, and love are endless. Every time I feel something is broken in me, I visit the Sea. Every time I need advice and help to understand my problem better, I visit the Sea. What love is to me? What love isn’t? How to fall in love? When to fall in love? The ways to fall in love. Or maybe don’t fall at all.

Let’s say for today that love and sea are synonyms in my dictionary.

Imagine, love is like the deep, cold sea. It’s dark blue, unclear.

Here we are, the pier, the sea, and me. But something was there all along, and I kept it out of the picture.

The stairs, the levels.

You want to go in, but when you dip your toe, you realize it really is different. Feels different. It’s cold. But it’s so welcoming. Is that a contradiction?

So, I did just hold my breath and jump. Jump and complain about how fucking cold is. Cold, or let’s just say different. Go out, jump again. Again and again, until my body adapts. After a few jumps, it’s fine. My body adapted to the new temperature, and finally, I felt good in water.

After a while, you feel uncomfortable not being in the water.

Last year, I found the stairs. The way to the sea is longer when you take the stairs. It makes you think; sometimes overthink. You remember all the warm clothes you left on the pier. You might hate this new situation you are in, but you know exactly what you are getting into. The adaptation process is longer, but you accept where you are — going in slowly. Going in questioning if it’s good for you. Reminding yourself why you do it and staying optimistic and a bit realistic helps. When you are in, you don’t want to come out. You stay and enjoy the new environment. Your body has not just adapted; your body welcomes the change.

You breath. It’s different.

I’m on the pier. Still wet, unsure if I want to go in again because the sun is about to set. But the golden hours are yet to come. I’ll be in the water when it’s time. I’ll be swimming again. Let me just collect my thoughts and look for the stairs into the deep blue sea while waiting for spring to arrive.

Thanks for reading me!

The Witty Witch