Again and again
The again fatigue.
The ache of it.
I’ve taken my surfing board to sea
too many times to count,
trying to master these waves
that never seem to cease.

They keep on coming.
Crashing.
Breaking.
Unrelenting.

But I...
I keep getting up.
Crying, trying,
Again and again.

Fatigued.
Tired.
Exhausted.
There must’ve been meaning
to the waves I crossed,
to the rage I dared to face.
Surely they meant something!

But they don't stop.
Not yet.
And neither do I.

Because maybe...
maybe I was never meant to master the sea.
Maybe I was born to dance with it.
To laugh in the face of the tide.
To scream and fall and rise like fire
Not to win,
but to become.

Maybe it was never about what others had
but what I’ve carried,
what I’ve kept,
what I refused to let go of
even when it nearly cost me everything.

Maybe it’s okay to fall.
To lose my balance.
To crack open.
To come undone
in the arms of the ocean
and still find myself whole.

And maybe...
just maybe
the waves will always come.

But I will rise.
Again.
And again.
And again.

Until peace meets me
not when the waters calm
but when I know
I was the storm all along.

I shall sea tomorrow.
Again and again.
But this time,
I will have fun.