Shoes litter the length of the shore and bob in the sighing surf. Sunday-best boots; solid farmers' shoes studded with hobnails; small, neat children's shoes with gleaming buckles. Wherever the inhabitants went, they went barefoot.
Now his love's a memory, a ghost in the fog.
He sets the sails one last time, saying farewell to the world.
Anchor to the water, seabed far below.
Grass still between his feet and a smile beneath his brow.
— "The Islander", Nightwish
I've come to a decision. The only chance we have for survival is evolution of the species. I'm taking my children back to the sea. I'm going to make them grow gills.
—Irradiated Mother, Hellblazer: On The Beach
Present Brian: But just when all hope seemed lost, I had an epiphany.
Past Brian: I am going to throw myself into the sea.
Present Brian: Luckily, before I could do that, my coworkers stopped me.
Past Brian: I am going to throw myself into the sea.
Present Brian: Luckily, before I could do that, my coworkers stopped me.
—Unravelednote
I never will marry
I'll be no man's wife
I expect to live single all the days of my life
The shells in the ocean shall be my death-bed
The fish in deep waters swim over my head
— Irish folk song "I Never Will Marry"
It calms me to think of blue as the color of death. I have long imagined death's approach as the swell of a wave - a towering wall of blue. You will drown, the world tells me, has always told me. You will descend into a blue underworld, blue with hungry ghosts, Krishna blue, the blue faces of the ones you loved. They all drowned, too. To take a breath of water: does the thought panic or excite you? If you are in love with red then you slit or shoot. If you are in love with blue you fill your pouch with stones good for sucking and head down to the river. Any river will do.
— Maggie Nelson, Bluets
She steps into the ocean, expecting more and greater pain, but the salt soothes her feet, and the water takes the weight of her body and the weight of her sins for her. It pulls at her legs, stronger and stronger. She grew up working fishing boats; she knows what a riptide is. She knows how to escape one.
She doesn’t.
The ocean itself pulls her further and further out, away from all of her responsibilities and labours and mistakes. She relaxes into the water, closes her eyes, and imagines becoming ocean foam.
She doesn’t.
The ocean itself pulls her further and further out, away from all of her responsibilities and labours and mistakes. She relaxes into the water, closes her eyes, and imagines becoming ocean foam.
— "A Cinderella sequel" by Derin Edala
