There are desires that speak of drowning,
and others that whisper—
stay by the shore.
To dissolve completely into another,
to become water in their veins,
and yet to be understood
without language—
in that strange, violent wave
where agony meets recognition
and neither knows
who swallowed whom.
My water.
My sea.
I love you.
I love myself.
And perhaps that is why
I am afraid of both.
For you and I
are ancient oceans—
carrying beneath our skins
depths without measure,
secrets without names,
and desires
even the moon does not dare pull from us.
I only wonder
if they know.
If they understand
the pain of becoming smaller
so that something else may live.
The quiet sacrifice.
The intention behind it.
The pieces I cut away
and place gently
at the altar of love.
And do not mistake me—
I do not bleed from resentment.
I bleed because I love.
Because my heart has always been
a vessel too full for its own ribs,
and sometimes
the only way to keep it overflowing
is to let it break.
I cut.
I lose.
I nurture
with whatever remains.
Yet what remains
has never truly been less.
For I was born of abundance.
I carry the old magic—
the kind that turns ash into wings,
the kind that teaches a dying thing
how to rise without asking
who set the fire.
So I rise.
Again.
And again.
I give.
I love.
I become.
Not because I do not fear emptiness,
but because I do.
For I dread the day
the waters within me finally still—
the day there is nothing left
to pour,
nothing left
to sacrifice,
nothing left
to resurrect.
For then,
perhaps,
the sea will remember itself as a storm.
And when it comes,
it will not ask permission.
It will swallow the shore,
the ships,
the names carved into sand—
everything and everyone
who mistook my gentleness
for an endless tide.
So, for now—
my twin,
my sacred water,
my mirror beneath the moon—
do not ask me to drown.
Teach me instead
the ancient art of crossing.
Grant me the strength
to enter your depths
without abandoning mine.
Give me a vessel
strong enough for two oceans.
Teach my hands
the language of the oar.
And when the waters rise,
when the siren in me
calls me toward the abyss—
hold my gaze.
Remind me
that I was never born
to sink.
I was born
of sea and flame,
and I am still learning
how to sail.
-Moonshines
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