the story runs like this.
it was early morning. the warm arms of dawn were gently enfolding the tide with their caressing touch, softer even, than the tender motion of her flesh beneath the waves.
"Je ne sais pas quels sommeils sous les eaux, mais il m'appelle. En bas. Plus profond. "
the current flowed slow. it was taking it's time, and danced around her silhouette as if amused by the tantalizing and lingering sweetness that wafted behind her, trailing like thinly stretched threads of honey.
she could picture herself lost in this huge realm, it's terrible vastness stretching far and wide in 3 directions. alone. floating.
"Mes pensées sont avec moi, mon âme erre libre. ceci, est le vol de l'esprit. "
she moved. swirled, tumbled and pirouetted as if becoming one with this enormous entity... torrents seemed to flow through her; thought, emotion, currents of will. all unmistakenly masked in hues of redemption and solitude. her will was her own, but her self was alone.
"Je suis perdu dans mon esprit, mais je suis trouvé dans ce coeur. Je coulerai dans à ceci, et ceci aussi passera..."
with one last look into inmensity, she headed back to the shore, right where the rest of the world began. back to where it waited.
let us never forget, as she once did, that even this... yes...
this too shall pass.
