I was not ready when it cascaded fiercely along my delicate contours, leaving behind traces of imagination. I was not ready when it left me bleak and bereft of lustre. It was unnerving and I was afraid. I was afraid to see my bare reflection. I was afraid because I felt cold, seeping through the pores of this empty brittle skin. But it cascaded, as abruptly as it had surged through the slender frame of my ribs, reaching the center point of every moment which made me feel alive. I watched it grow atop all of me and I watched it abandon all of me, graciously undulating with every breath.
It was hope. It was patience. It was strength to drag myself out of the unending labyrinth. I know I have not gone entirely mad, there is still a dissenting piece of sanity which belongs to me, which thrives on me but perhaps this raging sea is the only calm I need as I sculpt myself into a formidable piece of beauty.