Getting to Dry Land

I've been balancing on stepping stones stuck in the middle of an ocean. Once, ready to leap, prepared to swim, kicking out towards the horizon. Then, curled up on the cold rock, sinking to the bottom, forgetting to breathe. Feeling the cold, feeling the comfort of the pushing waves, rocking me to sleep in the blue depths. I let the blue permeate every pore, stain down to my soul. I scrubbed the scars with sand, keeping them open, watched my life bleed into the current. For so long I drifted, buoyed by the salt, relishing the sting, familiar with the pressure. Now, resurfaced, mapping the stones and owning the ocean. Drowned the shadows, inhaled the warm air, centred on a dormant compass. Which way? Which way to go? Washed clean, pale skin, new eyes searching. Scanning the possibilities, listening to heartbeats, waiting for the sunrise to shine a golden path across the water. Impatient now, struggling against the darkness, ready to sprint over the surface. It's been too long, so long. Waiting, waiting. Pulse getting louder, horizon becoming clearer, SHOW ME! Gold rays striking across the ripples, taming them into stillness, fire burning away time. I tensed, leaned forwards, felt the heat smash against my skin and ran.