`` LEAD ME . t o . { the truth && i will follow you with my whole ; L - I - F - E . ``

Mumford and Sons - "White Blank Page" 

You stare out before you.

The waters are cold, cruel. They lap over your exposed feet, taking advantage of your warm blood, your remarkable nervous system, and your apparent, distracted state.

They quickly recede to their reinforcements before you can even react - before you can lash out to stamp at them and send them sprinkling about. You are forced to retreat as well, though they do not seem to understand your apparent disinterest.

Foaming and swiveling, the waves spray, presenting their selves as nothing more than rolling water. Delicate crashes, cushioning claps - it all seems so very enticing. It all seems so very inviting.

The sand is beneath your feet.

You look down and find your foot print where you once stood. In the grooved grains, you found where you could have found solid-footing, didn't feel as it all came out from underneath you to flee with those receding waters.

The chills at your ankles made you want to either dry yourself off or to submerge them in the water. They'd adapt the temperature, you quickly rationalize. With haste, you take a step forth, over your fading footsteps, and feel as the waters return. This time, carrying the grains you once sought as solid footing upon the banks. The open space before you, solely blanketed of the waters which swirl around your ankles. You look to find your feet, only to see their hazing shapes conform with the layers of sand which pile atop.

You sink slightly, but use your will with ease to regain your footing.

"I came here to go into the ocean," you tell yourself.

You wade a bit further.

This time, water is up to your waist. Merely something you can control and moderate upon your choice of going deeper or returning to the drier sand grains.

Through the bubbles of resurfacing air that the water has captured and released, unaware to you, you find there are a litter of shells, smooth and powdery-looking all around your feet.

The wet sand feels nice.

You step upon a shell, feeling its jagged edges bring your soles discomfort.

"It is only a shell. No blood. It's part of the ocean."

Another reassurance to bring yourself to fun.

Fun is when the larger majority of your body is submerged in the water. When it dances towards you in its fin-like curtail and collapses as it approaches you. You find that, due to your natural buoyancy, you sway right over it if you kick your legs and wave your arms with enough force.

Turning back to the shore, you keep your legs working to find that the sand is no longer beneath you. The shore is further than an arm's length away, that's for sure.

You're not so sure about being so far from the shore.

Especially when the sun has finally gone down after your entire day in the water. Your body is getting cold.

"Time to go," calls a familiar voice.

A wave comes up from behind you and dances under you, catching you off-guard like that one from earlier in the day had. It had only tucked your head under for a moment or two, though you sputtered and wrenched your fists clean of the salt water to wipe at your eyes.

Deep breaths.

"Okay," you tell yourself, turning your body to look at the endless horizon. "Time to go."

Your head is drenched, as is the rest of your body. Eyes red, nose searing, jaws chattering - it is about time to go, very well then.

You start back for the shore, the lavender, cotton-filled skies overhead calmly settling in for the duration of your stay, in your stead. With each sweep of your arm, each heave of your lungs, the water is displaced behind you, though there is still much, more to wade through. It doesn't truly go anyplace as quickly as it merely moves around you. As you would move through it.

A simple notion, truly.

Your muscles begin to fatigue. After having made it your way close enough to the shore, you take another look out to the horizon, feeling the sand your feet just touched down upon dissipate beneath you.

Another look back to the shore, and it turns out that it was much farther than when you had first looked at it.

The waves lap at you frequently, the ominous darkness of space beneath and all around you creeping into your bones. It's unsettling, truthfully - "The Great, Deep Blue" as it is called to hold such unknowns. Unknowns that could very well swallow you whole.

Your breath grows sharp.

There is a boat of sorts that dances between you and the horizon. It is closer than either the horizon or the shore, but even as you keep your gaze on it while trying to fight to keep your tired head above the surface, it hums farther off from you.

You gather a breath in your lungs, though they burn with the intensity. Your body trembles from the chill seeping into your bones.

Any longer and you'll catch a cold.

With as much effort you care to muster, the arduous trek to get back to shore seems a bit more exhausting than it needs to be. There's a distant, piercing alarm that spans for the duration of a man's entire breath. Resembling a bird as it calls out in danger, the tone hovers over the sloshing of the waters, every creaking of your bone echoing into your ears.

You dunk your head under the water. A revitalizing shock to the system is just what you need.

The bubbles blur your vision, though you shut your eyes just as quickly as you had opened them.

After wiping at them and pedaling forth with your legs, you find the grains of sand on your fist. A hindrance of safely clearing your vision, you dunk your face down again, continuing forth.

No clue if you're steering off course - but what does it matter? Each way you go, the shore stretches along and beyond.

Finally, you set your feet on the rising bank, toes scratching at the slope. You teeter out, tired beyond recompense and soaked and shivering.

You return to your heap of belongings, where everyone else was waiting for you.

You turn to look at the horizon, the sun finally setting, and find that the sight is worth it out on your own two feet than it was out in the water, out under the water, and before you had even gone into the water.

The sight was the best after you had returned from the water.


<3 ~ Monty.
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