I remember the day the ocean swallowed me whole.
My dad was sleeping in the sand,
his olive skin darkening with each passing minute.
My mom was shrinking down the shore,
collecting colored shells and polished stones.
My sister and I were playing in the gentle waves,
the water lapping at our knees.
The sun was smiling down,
it's rays sinking into my skin,
dancing on the surface of the water,
it's strong reflection forcing me to squint my eyes.
I remember all the details so clearly.
All of the trivial things;
The tickling of the rough sand against the arches of my feet,
the tightness of the skin on my face and arms
from the dried sea salt.
What I don't remember is what made me do it.
I don't remember what made me forget about my dad
asleep in the sand.
Or about my mom
with her handful of shells
disappearing down the coastline.
And my sister
beside me
begging me not to go out too far.
"Do you want the ocean to take you away?"
She asked,
Burying her feet deeper into the sand.
"The ocean isn't going to take me anywhere"
I responded.
But it did.