So soon, again I am swimming. I'm an eternal optimist, I suppose. The sea may have tried to drown me every other time, but today the sea seems calm. I come to the water every day to sit on the beach and gaze out on the horizon, but since the last failed attempt, I've been afraid to set foot in the waves again.

I look different now, since I last swam. I wear a new suit, my hair brushes my shoulders instead of my back, and my eyes are clearer, brighter than they were before. The sea, too, seems different. Last time the sea seemed inviting, tempting, but now the see forces the tides to change in order to be closer to me. The sea isn't just tempting and beautiful, it's welcoming.

And what with her? She who came and took my hand, held it to her cheek. What of her whose understanding ear let me tell my tales of the sea? She knows of my attempts of swimming, including the long time I spent floating between the sea, its lover, and the sky. What must I make of her, she who has shown me the beauty of the beach?

I stand, her hand in mine, she raises with me. I glance ant the sea and grin, an extra spark in my eyes. She understands, and declares battle on the sea. Feet kicking up clots of sand as we run, we hit the water with a splash and flying white foam.

For once, the sea embraces me. She and I play and the water helps me, cradles and holds me. It holds her as well, I notice, but it does so unwillingly and occasionally throws her off balance to help me in our 'fight.'

The sea sends a warm current to sweep up my left, she rests her hand on my cheek. The warm sun is whispering on my face, reflecting the warmth radiating from me. The beach is glimmering too, tiny grains of quartz and mica glinting in the light.

From the corner of my eye, I see a figure sitting on a sand dune. Long hair tucked messily behind his ears, he is smiling and nodding, proud of the sea for its accomplishments. From the water, she splashes me, and when I have wiped the seawater from my face, the figure on the beach is gone.

I play in the water with her, the sea keeping me strong, the sun whispering to me, the beach showing its shining grin, and I feel loved.

The sun glitters briefly off an empty glass on the beach, glimmering off the lonely, last drop of water sitting in the bottom... I remember a boat, the glass, and when I died, but it barely fazes me. “But the class is there,” the sun reminds, “should you ever return to the beach and want a drink.”

I nod in acknowledgment, but I don't dwell too long on the prospect. Right now I have a water battle to win and a sea that never wants to let me go.