Geowalkabout

This week… I swim.  

Not for exercise.  

Not for grace.  

But because the cold bites less than the thoughts do.  

Because the sting of water  

is quieter than the scream beneath my skin.

I miss my dad.  

It’s a slow bleed under the surface,  

like salt in wounds no one can see

burning in the quiet corners  

of coffee shops,  

in the scent of eucalyptus,  

in the cold chair where he used to sit like time itself.

The world wants me whole.  

Smiling. Functional. Answering emails.  

But I wake to skies that press like stone on my chest,  

and when the sun goes down,  

I find myself slipping silently  

into the arms of water.

Night is my church.  

The pool, my confessional.  

Moonlight paints the ripples silver,  

stars blink approval  

as I let the ache unravel under the surface.

You said, *“All good either way,”*  

but what you meant was,  

“Only good if you pick me.”  

You made my solitude a story  

about someone else.

But I don’t belong to speculation.  

I don’t owe explanations  

for needing air,  

for needing nothing at all.

You sent your barbed messages  

like fishing lines into my peace,  

hoping I’d bite,  

drag myself back  

into the tide of your discomfort.

But I swim.  

Through thick silence.  

Through doubt like murky water.  

Because grief doesn’t care who understands it.  

And healing doesn’t beg for permission.

You turned my sorrow into a mirror  

and scolded the reflection.  

You saw the vacancy behind my eyes  

and asked who filled it.

But no one has.  

No one could.  

Not when I’m still sifting through ashes  

of who I was  

before the world cracked open  

and took my father with it.

So don’t call me cold  

for choosing silence over struggle.  

Don’t write endings I haven’t spoken.

This is not rejection.  

It’s resurrection.

Let the dark hold me.  

Let the water hush the noise.  

Let the moon witness  

what daylight misunderstands.

Because I am not okay.  

But I am still here.  

Still floating. Still fighting. Still mine.  

And this week…  

I swim.