Swim

Chlorine was my perfume for the past eight summers. My skin dry from the pool and my hair too rubbery for my liking. The summer sun blazed upon the pool lanes. Everyday my eyes were left with rings around them, which left a very sad circular tan line that matched my cap tan line across my forehead. Every morning, waking too early to my dismay. Saturdays from four in the morning to two in the afternoon were spent racing.

Despite all of the above, every damn time I entered the water I felt alive. Water, if it was the lake or ocean or pool, I'd find comfort in the chilling, freeing substance. It felt as if I was soaring, hovering, gifted with something beautiful and magical. The water was my home. It will always be the place I go to clear my head, where nothing else matters.