I went swimming for the first time this summer.

I dove into the pool, felt the tingle of the bubbles

brush against my skin, the ambient noise of the

water, noise-cancelling headphones, 

blocking out the surrounding world. 

I had practically dragged myself out to the backyard, 

fearing I had too many things and such little time, 

especially to waste in the pool.
As I gently reached down into the shallow area, 

hovering above the blue-tiled floor, 

                                       ascent.

                my fateful 

I began

I rose, and I was 10 again.

I was splashing the water with my fists, 

pulling my arms to make crashing waves, 

rushing down the slide, diving for rings. 

I turned towards the star above me.

The sun, had it grown more radiant? 

Had the bird’s chirps grown in volume?

I watched as two red dragonflies darted

across the side of the pool edge, 

stopping for a rest, or to splash in the puddles

that I had created. 

I made sure to swim softly, carefully around them, 

or would duck when one tried to fly across, 

scared that I would splash their vulnerable wings. 

Unfortunately, it grew overcast, 

and I was forced to leave the depths of the water.

I dried off, and trekked upstairs to the bathroom, 

feeling myself grow in height with each step, 

shedding my youthful exterior,

until I was 20 again. 

I thought about tomorrow’s shift, 

what I should eat for dinner, 

about the tiny souls of those dragonflies, and the souls

of other bugs that I have not been as kind to.

Lastly, I thought of how far away…                   something 

as simple as the pool had taken me,

 to a time where I didn’t know much, 

or had to worry about anything at all. 

I had forgotten about that awkward, in-between, 

gradual instar, where I slowly grew up, 

forgetting the joys of such little things.

The water that I had missed, 

my own private sea, 

that I would glance at, but ultimately ignore,

as I shedded adolescence.

When simple things like pulling all-nighters with friends, 

racing cars in the lounge room,

pretending I was asleep under my blanket, 

and swimming all day, were but everyday occasions, 

with little consequences, 

except sleepy mornings,

and drowsy smiles.