I fell back into the first arms to catch me,
but he was a pond and you were an ocean,
And as he tried half heartedly to explain
the wonders of a pond, my mind was busy
living in the memories of your vastness.
Half wishing that I had fallen into something
with a little less depth, a little less danger
than your mysterious, tumultuous waters.
Your waves were too big,
I foolishly felt my sails could withstand you.
But I was on borrowed time and lost at sea,
and never had anything felt so painfully adventurous.
I never had a chance to earn my sea legs,
so why does solid ground still feel so foreign?