A Billion Burning Dreams

the deeper they tend to be. When you felt the light from my fresnel lens touch your clammy skin — hands groping at buoys in the darkness never able to hold onto anything long enough to stay afloat; clenched fists that held onto that secret so tightly they had forgotten how to trust — you let go. You began to see that the sea you were drowning in could fit inside a thimble. Nocturnal eyes that had only known the dark began to see a light. It came in waves, softer than the ones you had ridden — turning, tempting, a beacon beckoning, and you began to swim towards it. No matter how exhaustive, you fought against the riptide, knowing in your soul that this light could be trusted. I saw you from a distance treading water, floundering, but I have watched you learn to keep yourself afloat, because you cannot swim with closed fists.

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