This is how the ocean exists in my dreams.
It isn’t sunny and it isn’t kind. It doesn’t promise to lap softly, tamely at my feet. I’m drawn to it not because of its beauty, not because of its danger, but because of my own unrest, mirrored in tumult of the waves. It’s dangerous, this indigo shine on the water, a shade lighter than night.
It’s a living being, wild in the half light. It sends waves out to scour the shore, to grip the land and pull it in, to build the wall between wet and dry. The waves crash together at harsh angles as it draws them back into itself.
This is how I like it, this is what it’s like. This is when it’s real.
I follow it as it draws away, just like I do in my dreams. I know the water will come back, come higher, come over me. All I want is to get closer. The wind batters my ears and it’s all I can hear above the waves.
Last night in my sleep I walked to the edge of the sand cliff, curiosity tempting me forward. I went too far and it captured me, just like it always does, pulling at me as I clung to the cliff, crashing over my head. It held me in its infinite arms, indifferent and strong. I didn’t escape. I never do.
I walk toward it now, the ocean of my dreams, curious as always. The waves pull at my feet, dragging me deeper.
But awake, I am not afraid.