The ocean.

Part 1: Her mind.

Her mind was like the ocean. Often calm, beautifully sparkling under the sun, the waves gently falling in peaceful harmony. But sometimes a storm would rage, and she would sit inside her small sailboat, holding on for dear life. And in that moment, it would become difficult to breathe. The water would fill her lungs with its heaviness, her body would become weaker and she wouldn’t be able to control the storm no matter how hard she tried. The chaos that ensues in these moments would last varying amounts of time, but she would do everything in her power to stay afloat, to wait for the storm to settle. She found peace not only when the sky was clear and the ocean calm, she found it in the depth of the ocean, and on those days when the clouds were dark but there wasn’t chaos. She was able to appreciate the peaceful bliss and the dark, mysterious qualities of the ocean, and it was that appreciation for her mind that gave her strength in the storms.

Part 2: His fear.

He told me he was afraid of the ocean.
I empathized for I too had irrational phobias.
But soon I found out that he was also afraid of depth.
I was a creature with substance.
A woman who embraced the darkness as much as the light.
For in the depth one can find beauty.
It could be overwhelming yes, but it was as much a part of me as death is a part of life.
But he preferred to keep things superficial.
He stuck to the surface-level details as if he was afraid he could drown in the entirety of my being.
Some prefer to hide from the darkness, to behave as if it doesn’t exist.
But I, having found that to be impossible, have spent my life trying to make peace with it instead.

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