Sink or swim?

Last week I lost something.

I lost something that I didn't ever really have, if only for a brief couple of days.

I was enticed, by Hope.

She was standing on an island and I was on the sand, white, brilliant sand.

In front of me was sea, crystal clear, blue sea.

I put my toe in.

The water was so warm, so inviting.

Hope was there, shining a light and beckoning me to come toward her.

Slowly I swam.

I swam those crystal waters towards Hope, towards her light.

After a short while, the water began to feel colder, not the same as it did on the shore.

I hesitated, but reminded myself that often seas feel colder when you get in deeper.

Gradually a light mist surrounded me.

Through this mist I was struggling to see Hope.

I could just make out her light, but it was faint.

Then briefly the mist lifted and once again I saw Hope and her light.

But all too soon, she was gone.

The mist was thick, heavy, it engulfed me and sucked at my soul.

Panic set in, I couldn't reach the bottom of the sea, my feet trod the water and I floundered in the unknown.

Behind me I heard voices, on the shore.

I turned and swam heavily and with cumbersome strokes, flailing often, toward the voices.

Hands reached in and grabbed me and dragged me up on the the rocks and pebbles that were once pale sand. As they did, the rocks cut my arms and my face and my legs.

The sea water stung my body as deep reminder of my journey, just as the tears later stung my face.

My womb felt empty, my heart heavy.

The voices asked me if I was okay.

I was devoid of any emotion, I could not reply.

Looking behind me back at where Hope once stood, I could now make out her island.

Millions and millions of pieces, made up from women's hearts.

Shining, red and bright, on the precipice of this isle.

And standing out like a star on the horizon,

Was a tiny, new, fresh slice of mine.