Can you remember the last day we spent together?
You were jumping around in the Pacific, splashing water into the air with the force of your hands and getting deeper and deeper into the water
You were always afraid of everything, except the ocean
I loved you for that
For I have always been afraid of nothing, except the ocean
I had to learn early on the strength of the sea
So I stood there, at the shore, safe enough from the crashing waves to admire your childlike fearlessness and excitement over the towering waves,
your body trying to ride them, tame them in some way.
You didn’t know then you’d be dead the next day.
And now I’m so glad you swam deep,
that you threw your body over those towering waves and splashed around as if you had never before seen the sea
and looked at me with those eyes that made me always believe in everything.
I am just so glad you lived. Really lived.
Beyond my fears and yours, and the strength of the sea.