Another metaphor for loss

So, I’m supposed to just ride this storm out, right? Keep telling myself it will pass, blow over, mellow out, calm down. That the sea won’t really drown me, not this time. Right?

Save for this time, I’m cast out on a line that has no tether to the greater boat.
Sent out on the waves on this little skiff, trying desperately to just stay upright.

And the winds are blowing stronger every moment, and they are most assuredly blowing against me.

I was trying to follow it, flow with it, go with it. Be a spirit on the cusp of it. A wing on the edge of it. A salt spray bursting from it, every flowing, ever moving, ever free.

But when I look down, now, there’s all these chains all over me.
And no matter how hard I row, I can’t, I won’t break free.

It might be the end, and I can’t decide if it would change anything if I tried to tell myself that I could choose it any other way.

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