“I swam under water as if I really did not want to return to the surface, as if I wanted to stay below with the fish.” – Anaïs Nin, Summer 1942
I have days of escapism and nights of no-return. These past few weeks saw the return to forgotten surroundings. And the arrival of lost memories. A refuge to the sea. A sea so engrained within my flesh and blood, that if I was to slit my throat and bleed, I would slowly stream salt, sand and the shrill swan song of swallow. It’s never easy to come home to the thing you grew from. And the more you try to clutch and fight, the more it’s carnal desire eats. I feel as if I possess inside me the ebb and flow of the ocean. And at any given moment, the tide will swell to the point of drowning.