The Ocean I Cannot Leave

I wake before dawn,

when the world still sleeps under gray mist,

and walk toward that endless blue mouth

that calls me,

again,

again,

like a prayer with no god,

like a wound that won’t heal.

The ocean waits —

calm, cruel, infinite.

Every time I see it,

I forget my name.

I forget the weight of skin,

the shape of land,

the sound of clocks.

Only waves speak,

and I listen,

obedient like a child to its mother’s hum.

It calls me deeper,

every morning,

as if it remembers me from another life —

a life where I had gills instead of lungs,

salt instead of blood,

and love that drowned rather than bloomed.

They say it’s just water.

But how can “just water”

sing to my bones like that?

How can “just water”

steal my breath,

pull my pulse,

make me ache with beauty and fear

at the same time?

No.

The ocean is not water.

It’s a living thing.

It watches me.

It remembers every secret I have thrown into it.

It keeps them —

tender, jealous,

like a lover guarding my sins.

When I walk too close to the shore,

it touches my feet,

as if tasting me again,

testing if I still belong.

Sometimes, I whisper,

“I’m here.”

Sometimes,

I swear it answers —

not in words,

but in the curl of foam

around my ankles,

the sudden hush between waves,

the echo of my heartbeat

matching its rhythm.

It is not madness.

It is devotion.

It is hunger made holy.

I have watched it in all moods.

When it rages,

I do not run.

Its anger excites me,

its chaos feels like truth.

Every crashing wave

feels like a confession.

It destroys, yes,

but it destroys beautifully.

And in its violence,

I find peace.

When it sleeps,

I kneel beside it.

I trace the ripples

like the lines of a palm

trying to read my fate.

I see my reflection,

and it seems like the sea is wearing my face —

sad, endless,

half in love,

half afraid.

I throw stones,

not to hurt it,

but to see how long

it takes to forget the wound.

Always too fast.

The water closes over,

smooth again,

pretending nothing happened.

It forgives too easily.

It never keeps scars —

only depth.

Sometimes I wonder —

what would happen

if I just kept walking?

Would it take me whole,

gentle or rough,

kiss or bite?

Would it cradle me

or crush me?

Would I vanish into the blue

and finally become

what it always wanted —

part of it,

not apart from it?

There are nights

I dream I already have.

In dreams,

I live beneath it —

among ruins of ships,

bones of whales,

pearls like tears

and the dark light that never ends.

The seaweed strokes my hair like fingers,

and the silence hums like a lullaby.

I open my mouth,

and breathe water like air.

It fills me,

not choking,

but freeing.

Every breath is the ocean’s whisper —

mine, mine, mine.

Then I wake,

and my throat burns with thirst.

No drink can calm it.

Only the sea can.

People laugh.

They call me “sea-touched.”

They don’t know how right they are.

They see my footprints leading always the same way —

toward the shore,

never away.

They see the salt on my skin

and think it’s from the wind.

But it’s from the inside —

I swear the ocean has entered me.

Once,

I tried to stay away.

Days without seeing it.

Days without hearing that roar.

I told myself I was free.

But even in silence,

I heard the waves inside my chest —

a secret drumbeat,

steady, endless.

When I slept,

it came to me.

I could smell the brine,

feel the pull,

as if the tide rose inside my veins.

I woke with wet palms

and the taste of salt on my lips.

How do you escape something

that lives in your blood?

I’ve seen sailors curse it,

fishermen fear it,

lovers lose each other to it.

Yet I remain —

kneeling, whispering, worshipping.

The ocean does not promise safety.

It promises truth.

Raw, shifting, beautiful truth.

It shows me that love

is not always gentle.

That devotion

can also drown.

That surrender

can be the purest prayer.

Every heartbreak I’ve ever had

has sounded like its waves.

Every joy,

like the sparkle of light

dancing on its surface.

Even my loneliness

finds comfort

in its vast indifference.

It listens,

but it never answers.

Still, I keep talking —

telling it stories of my days,

of people who leave,

of promises that fade.

It just breathes back,

slow and eternal,

as if saying,

“Everything returns to me.”

And maybe that’s the truth.

Everything does.

Rivers. Tears. Rain. Flesh.

Even hearts.

One day, mine too.

I’ve stood through storms,

hair whipped,

eyes burning,

and still I couldn’t turn away.

The sky breaks,

lightning spills into the water,

and I think —

this is what love looks like

when it’s honest.

Terrifying. Beautiful.

Endless.

Once, the tide came too close.

It pulled my feet from under me.

I fell,

laughing,

terrified.

It swallowed me halfway,

held me tight,

and for one heartbeat,

I thought it wouldn’t let go.

And part of me wished it wouldn’t.

When it released me,

I gasped like someone reborn.

I lay on the sand,

trembling,

eyes open to the storm.

I whispered,

“You’ll have me one day.”

The wind carried it away,

but I think the sea heard.

Because it softened.

The waves gentled,

almost like a sigh.

A promise, maybe.

A threat, maybe.

Does it matter?

I am its either way.

Now I live between two worlds —

one of earth,

one of tide.

I speak to both,

but belong to neither.

When people ask me why I stay,

I just say —

“I can’t leave the ocean.”

But what I mean is —

the ocean won’t leave me.

It’s in my dreams,

my voice,

my pulse.

It’s the sound behind every silence,

the shadow under every joy.

It’s the first thing I see each morning,

and the last thing before sleep.

I have kissed no lips

as deep as its waves.

I have known no arms

as wide as its reach.

I love it.

I fear it.

I worship it.

And I know —

when my breath finally breaks,

when my body returns to dust —

I will walk into it

one last time,

slow, calm, smiling.

Not as a goodbye.

But as a homecoming.

Because I was never made of land.

I was made of tide.

And all along,

the ocean knew.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***