The Gladly Sea
Hannah lee                     

She grabbed his hand. She held it close to her heart, the sea fluttering around them, ready to swoop in and take every ounce of oxygen left in their lungs in mere moments. But first, she curled his fingers into hers, and closed her eyes, and remembered.

She remembered the first time she felt those fingers against hers, a gentle brush at a street fair, twinkling lights in the background, everything fuzzy suddenly becoming clear as she inhaled with surprise. Surprise that everything seemed to click, as the world came into focus all around her.                                                            

It was as if she had been a dead woman walking, and suddenly her heart was buzzing back to life, vibrations running rampant all around her, like the strings of a furious instrument desperate to convey the urgency of it’s melody.                                                                     

And now she felt more alive, even still, even as the water was gently stealing it from her. She wanted him to know she felt it. His eyes were closed, his lashes standing out against the paleness of his skin. She felt his thumb press into hers, and she knew he was thinking of it too. It was a feeling that could not be denied-- a feeling that overtook and replaced every other feeling ever felt. Making all other victories and brief happinesses irrelevant.                                                                       

They were together, at least, as it was all falling apart. They were in cohesive space, trapped in the depths of the unknown, seconds left of consciousness. But that was the thing that jolted her most-- she had never really felt conscious until she met him. She had been happy, the kind of happiness that bubbles on the surface and gurgles with a grin as it hits the side of a swimming pool before dispersing and returning back to the chlorine calm. Now, it was as consistent and powerful as an ocean wave. As forcefully gentle as the tide kissing the sand further and further, desiring to consume as much as possible before the dark settles in and steals the light. It was the bravest stirring she had ever known.                                                                      

It was stronger than gravity, yet as weightless as ever. It was reality. It was living.

It was, finally, alive.