It feels so good, deep in my bones, to move myself through the otherworldly substance, buoyed up by the rhythm of waves or propelled forward in exhilaration as they crash. Yet it feels so terrible when wet skin meets the air, and trickling droplets transform into sharp pricks by the slightest breath of wind. I wish that I could be in water without water being on me. But some kinds of heaven are worth going through hell, and water can be both.
