by Mico Subosa
When Cupid fired that arrow, he’d actually intended for Mara to fall in love with the sunbathing lifeguard, but instead, she fell in love with the Sea.
And the Sea loved her, too. She knew this because, while she sauntered toward Her, She kept whispering, in the language of sea-breeze, Her pining, Her desire for her.
She lay naked by the Sea. She marveled at how beautiful her lover was that night, wearing the sky like a pearl-sequined robe. Together they gazed at the moon and the constellations, the Sea tickling the webs between her toes, and running Her amorphous, sandy fingers through her hair as they did.
She felt the Sea’s salty lips creeping all over her body. She caressed her everywhere – her back, her belly, her waist, her neck, her arms, her thighs. In her excitement, she was soaked in the seawater she had perspired. She could tell the Sea was getting excited, too; the surf was getting bigger every second, the waves, more rapid and more forceful. And true enough, in a tide of raging want, the Sea pounced on her and pulled her away from shore. She choked on some saltwater, and through the few split-seconds of her submersion, she felt like she was drowning.
Mara was terrified. She waded against the undercurrents in hurry back to shore. She knew the Sea did not intend to drown her, though; She loved her, and thus could not do that to her. The Sea had only lost Herself to a throe of mad passion, she understood that. However, this was not enough to keep her by the Sea.
She still hadn’t learned how to swim, and felt it was unfair for the Sea to always worry about drowning her each time they would make love. She had to walk away. If and when she learns to swim, she would come back for Her, she promised. But for now, she had to walk away.
And so she walked away from Her, ignoring the breeze’s begging whispers.