Running out of breath

The woman sat before the ocean. The sand under her palms and buttocks was still warm after a sunny cloudless day, and she got rid of her shoes and socks. The skin of her feet was warmer than that of her palms, and the plants of her feet hugged fondly the warmth of the sand. The warmth met a soon death nonetheless, as the woman sunk them into the infinite, tiny grains that never got the warm embrace of daylight.

It was sand closer to the unseeable depths of the ocean before her eyes than to the skies. The waves would continue to hiss and roar in ever-cycling retreats and comebacks, and the wind would get caught within the crevasse of her ears. It was an orchestra singing a melancholic song, heartbeat after heartbeat. It felt soothing and she allowed herself to give in to the embrace of non-judging wilderness that was all around her.

The sky was turning bluer as the minutes surfed the rocking waves. Her fingers, and palms, and soles were getting colder. The ambient’s coast side warmth began to fade alongside subtle yet cold gusts coming from the ocean. Though few remnants of the fiery golden light appeared to strive, enduring the coldness; nonetheless, it would soon be over and she got up from the sand that glided over her calves, running like giggling children down a slope. She remembered herself and her cousins doing that as toddlers and smiled as she decided to leave her sweater on. It was a reassurance that it was all going to be alright.

She decided she was going back, maybe even going home. She would leave the several houses, crowds and cities, the voices and the windows, but more importantly, the words that would always be around, both in and out of her head…

All of that, behind at last!

She was answering an inviting call into the depths of a realm unknown to all, yet everybody’s own and shared final destination. The woman started walking towards the hisses and roars of the fizzy waters. They were not threatening, they rather felt like a spiritual chanting and she gave into their soothing mantra-like repetition.

The sand underneath her feet became thicker and colder every step she took towards the ocean; from the dreamy state of dry sand into the tough awareness of thick, wet sand. Water made her shiver when it touched her groin and hips, her leg’s hair floating around like seaweeds sticks. It was a good thing she had kept her sweater on, she confirmed as goosebumps would come and go over her upper body. Above her, the sky had turned deep black. It was filled with the glimmer stars, and to the left, appeared a mischievous smile shining bright.

The ocean was quiet and the waves rocked subtly against her body. Her abdomen felt the pressure of the water around it, and the breast hardened when the waves crashed against them. The liquid force, yet subtle, was as deep as it was obscure. Invisible beings gilded between her legs, others would simply crash against her leaving quickly, and small boulders were placed scattered around, her feet stumbling against some of them. Some salty drops made their way to her face, and she felt tickling in her eyes when they made their way between her eyelids.

She kept on walking, becoming lighter step after step. When the first wave went above her chin, crashing into her face, the woman levitated automatically, lifted by the ever-flowing currents under the water. She took a dive into the water, getting a hold of a boulder. When she breathed out of the water and into the starry night, she could barely keep her face above the water, its salt stinging into her eyes, nostrils, and throat.

She looked at the sky. She smiled at them, shredding barely visible tears in the midst of the salt, and rejoiced at the feeling of the air within her lungs at her full capacity. And then she dove in. With her eyes closed, she took hold of a boulder that sunk her with its earthy weight into the cold, cold sand. The woman walked forward and opened her eyes. They had grown used to the salt and managed to see a crystal clear, yet dark, universe. There was no sky above her head anymore, but an endless mirror of ever-changing shapes.

A raging fire of energy came from her very core as she just kept on walking, feeling a fleeting dream every time she thought of her running out of breath.

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Isabel A Hermosillo

Isabel A Hermosillo

Writer, saunterer, and tea contemplator. Stories get tangled among my hair and take the form of writings, poems and photography. Bilingual zealot.