On the beach, passing by the sea, I remembered how much I feared drowning.
Being denied of something you most desperately need, with just enough hope of survival to keep you pushing until the last breath. Disoriented and unsure which direction leads to the surface, but still pushing.
This instant, however, I believe I should drown. The most fitting punishment is the one most feared, and the one that restores balance after its execution.
Dear the sea, take me!
My flesh, feed it to the fishes so that I might be of some purpose to someone.
My blood, let it mix with you so that I might have a share in your greatness.
My bones, preserve them as the only evidence that I have ever existed. Show them to those who wanted to follow my ways.
After the punishment is executed, and after I am deemed worthy, I will be like nature. I will continue to exist as a collection of qualities. I will exist in the sound of waves, in the movement of the fishes, and in the minds of those who have heard my story.
But until that wish comes true, I will keep wondering why the beach feels so lonely.
Have I always really preferred solitude?
I am not drowning, but it’s difficult to breathe.
As a consolation, they said: “what wasn’t couldn’t have been.” But isn’t that the source of my sorrow?
I couldn’t have been wiser or happier. My life couldn’t have been anything other than it is today. If I am born again, then it is only to be punished again.
My crime, I don’t know. But I know the punishment, and I can only begin to imagine the greatness of the crime.