There is an ecstasy in all of this; in the setting of the sun, the ending of a war, the birth of a new day, a new life. But there is also ecstasy in the darkness; the buoyant grief of disappointment, the solitude of despair, of loneliness, of death. We test the waters of this sadness, of joy, dipping in only a few toes, then our foot, then we wallow, only to then discover that far beneath us are depths we could never have imagined. I hold your hand and we swim through them together, and maybe you'll let go and maybe you'll hold on, but I'll never truly know because, really, we're all just doing this alone anyway.

It is immersive, and immense.

There is bravery in leaving one's home, this vast ocean, to seek a new life on land, but isn't there also fortitude in returning to the cool depths; the land found too dry, too empty, absent of rest but also of true sadness. This is our Letting Go: the prodigal sons and daughters returning to Mother Ocean, her gentle arms softening our cracked skin, her cool breath calming our hot chests.

At last this freedom is real. At last hope, and hopelessness, will be real. And I'll swim deeper, master of my destiny but subject to it, the current pulling and pushing me, my arms digging into the icy liquid, pulling me to some dark, lonely place I can call home.

Do the consequences ever strike him?

He will meet me there, or he will leave me alone. And the song of my brothers and sisters, from the surface far above, will one day reach me, my eyes all but faded in the darkness. Is it a welcoming, asking me to surface, or a warning, imploring me further into the depths? And I will sing one lonely chorus, my voice lost in the cold.

And then I will sleep.