Long before our flame was lit,
the ocean was your lover.

Her greens and grays had formed
the foundation of your dreamlike existence,
and her beaches drew you in as if by some
primordial calling.

You spent your summers in her tidal pools
and even winter could not drag you away.
The little blue crabs reminded you
of ballerinas, and their strange movements
made you laugh.
On the worst of days—
like when your parents told you that
their Joy had died,
her gentle lapping smoothed all your
rough edges.

Once you tried to lose yourself in her depths—
you swam hard until your body collapsed with
exhaustion and screamed with frustration as
she spat you out again.
She knew it was not yet your time.

As you grew, the world shrank until
the ceilings almost hit your head and
unwinged, your mother was no fairy queen.
Silent reassurance was found in the always-endless seascape.
She nurtured you through heartbreak
and in those toppling moments of desperation,
the consistency of her tides gave you balance.

Even after our paths had crossed,
you returned to her like a mistress.
I knew her perfection could never be replaced but
how I yearned to match it.
Like a first love, she remains the flicker in your eyes, but
jealousy does not come easily for
as you dance against her supple body,
I too am seduced.