The sea tells two stories at once.
One where sailboats drift slowly,
like prayers that ask for nothing,
across the living body of the water.
Everything seems suspended,
held in delicate balance
between heaven and earth.
And another story.
One where,
beneath all this beauty and stillness,
there are depths that do not forgive.
Currents that pull without warning.
Violent storms that swallow everything:
names,
bodies,
stories left unfinished.
I stand before beauty
and feel its teeth.
My child laughs.
With tiny footsteps,
he draws patterns in the sand
that disappear with the very first wave.
He reaches for the water
again
and again,
without fear.
He is light
across this entire horizon.
Fragile
and completely secure
at the same time.
I watch him,
while the sea continues
its ancient breathing.
So much trust
in a world
that promises nothing.
I watch him,
and inside me
love and fear,
joy and sorrow,
rise together
in the same breath.
A fierce kind of love.
One with no escape.
Because this is what love is:
to see everything,
and still be unable
to stop anything.
To hold fear inside you,
yet allow it to exist
beside beauty.
To remain
at the edge of the world,
without turning away,
even after you know.
To feel
how easily the depths could pull you under,
and still stay.
To stand
at the edge
of everything
you cannot control,
and whisper:
“Trust your soul’s own journey.”
“Stay.”
Even while knowing
that nothing
ever truly belongs
to you.