The sunset paints the horizon red like an open wound. The wind chills me. The waves hit the side of the boat, making a hollow sound. We cast our rods and stare forever, waiting. I’ve had practice in this, waiting for things that may never happen. Not that it’s worked out for me, yet.

My dad starts to reel a fish in. He doesn’t struggle, and the fish is too small to keep. I look into its eye moments before it returns to the sea with a splash. I think of how unpleasant it must be to be pulled away by your lip, and how relieving it must feel to be set free. To breathe again. Perhaps the fish enters the water with a new gratitude towards life, but the fish will forget, just as we forget. Just as I’ve forgotten the days when I had more hope, before every day was just something to get through.

By the time we return to land, night has fallen. The water is calm now. It looks so black and still that its depth seems never ending. It feels like I could drop my whole life into it and it would float down forever, without a sound.

The next day, I swim in a lake alone. I dive down, and a weed catches my ankle. I can’t swim away or reach above water. I pull and pull at the weed, but to no avail. Bubbles flow out of my mouth. I thrash and never stop fighting, and finally, the weed breaks. I gasp for air at the surface. I can breathe again. The sun warms my face. I am relieved to be alive.

Shivering in a towel at the shore of the lake, I still am lost, but I admire the cloudy blue sky.

© katiewrites