The feelings I once had were profound. They were tides, dragging me to and fro at their own command. They would suck me into their vicious undertow with a power so strong I was hurled into flips and loops. And when their deed was was done, they'd spit me back onto the shore, shivering and disfigured, only to pull me back again when the time came.
I allowed them.
Because even if their salty ways ripped through my walls, my desires, my logic, my mind; they were still feelings. They were constant... Reliable. They gave something tangible.
I could feel their icy fingers raking through my hair. I could feel their glacial sharps impaling my insides. I could feel something.
And now, the tide has stopped coming. I have removed myself from the coastline. The funny thing is, now, I can't even feel the sand in my shoes.
I am not even able to reminisce on how those tides used to tug and rip through me like I was nothing. The grains of sand that used to be tossed around with me beneath the waves, the small details that contributed to my overwhelming states, are no longer known to me. The sand... it's slipped through my fingers.
It's odd how something that used to pull me with such gust is now nothing but a distant mist that would radiate off of the sea. You think I'd enjoy the peace; that rather than being amidst the chaos of the waves, I'd prefer to only hear the consistent tossing against the shore.
But I'm not so sure. Because hearing, remembering, is not the same as truly feeling.
Am I really willing to put myself through the water filling my lungs, the sun growing more and more distant with every moment, the icy currents surrounding me in every direction, the utter loneliness that only the sea can give you, the sincere and definite sensation of drowning... Just for the sake of feeling something? I know it sounds insane. I know it's crazy. But still, the echo seems to bite more than the sound itself. This black loneliness, absence of feeling, hurts worse than the violent one I felt while being dragged upon the sea floor.