The windmills of the sea
Chest roaring, heart beating, muscles clenching, nails biting skin, this damn Tsunami thundering inside me. Crashing waves, large, strong, drowning my chest in their brute collision against myself. It is hard to breathe. My lungs hurt at the lack of air, at the absence of peace. My head hurts, my eyes water. It is hard to breathe. I fight, I fight hard against these waves, these untamed giants ready to crash me, pulverize me, unravel me in my restless struggle against the tide. It is hard to breathe. I clench my teeth, I kick, I punch, I fight to my last breath against these relentlessness forces that swear to drown me in despair. It is hard to breathe. There is no more grit in me, no more fight. My muscles are sore and my heart tired, I close my eyes and I surrender to the hopelessness and anguish of this moment. My breath, I feel it, the rise and fall of my chest, I let myself go, carried by the tide wherever it will flow. Suddenly, I feel, the sand, the solid ground under my feet, I am returned to shore. I laugh, because, after all I see, I see the truth in those old fishermen tales about the sea always returning what it steals. I breathe, in and out, filling my lungs, in and out, expanding my chest, in and out, extending my belly. Oh, my wonderful breath, it has me, it secures me, it reminds me I am alive, here, undrowned, grounded, safe from the waves that were never more than windmills to the D. Quixote in me.