Learning to swim.

There's a lipstick stain on his cuff and blood spilt on the hardwood floor. The tumblers are full again; clear, crisp, deadly. I know I should run away. But something makes me stay. The pain in his eyes. The fear in mine. Hindsight. I should have run far, far away from there. Instead I fell. Call it despair, despondance, melancholy, lachrymose. I fell hard. And then, I was cast away. Thrown by my faithful, lying pirate to the stormy, homeless ocean. And for a long time I drowned. I choked on the salty waters of rejection and fear and loss. But after a while I came to realise that I could swim. I can swim! So I swam hard. It wasn't easy, and I was tired from all the desperate thrashing. My muschles ached and the prospect of gulping the water down and letting it fill my lungs with rushing death seemed often an easier option. Seaweed swirled around me slicing my flesh, but despite the wounds and lethargy, I just kept swimming. It didn't matter what stroke I used, I just kept swimming. Dory providing a comforting chant: "Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming..." And finally I came to the point where me feet reached the bottom. And now I can see the shoreline. I'm paddling in the warm, shallow waters, looking at my friends and family urging me on. They're calling to me with love and support. I've nearly made it. And one of the best parts of all, is that I met a beautiful, amazing, incredible, loving merman on the way. He holds my hand, kisses me ever so gently and loves me for every fault, every scar, every mistake and every amazing thing about me.