“I don’t know how to swim.”
“I’ll teach you.”
Water weaving through my hair,
soft and steady,
Blurring the edges of the world.
Lilies brushing my skin
faint and silk,
singing melodies of the dawn.
Moss coiling ‘round my fingers,
cool and warm,
pulsing quiet beneath the touch.
I float
light, weightless,
I reach to hold on
I reach for his voice
“You can be anyone”
“You should always do what you love”
As hushed as the reeds
As lulling as the ripples
10 hours and 10 thousand miles in between
“Teach me how to paint when you come back”
“What do you like to read”
“Tell me all about your new life”
Lilies trembled, pale lips parting in whispers,
Moss wove a cradle, endless, unyielding
“You’re just holding me up,”
My voice, breathless,
“Will you teach me to swim?”
I drown,
heavy, sinking.
A world reflected in eyes,
Questions sinking like stones,
Glances flickering in a sea of silence,
I reach to hold on
I reach for his voice
My breath echoes
As hushed as the reeds
As lulling as the ripples
rippling, trembling, parting in whispers.
I drown.
Water clawing through my hair,
Drowning, smothering,
Swallowing the edges of the world.
White veins of venom, lashing my skin
Burning, searing,
Pale ghosts singing hymns of death.
Moss snaring ‘round my fingers,
Grasping, dragging
Dead and cold beneath the touch.
“I still can’t swim”
Writer | Amaya Ranatunge ’28 | aranatungearachchi28@amherst.edu
Editor | Sofia Ahmed Seid ’26 | sseid26@amherst.edu
Artist | Amaya Ranatunge ’28 | aranatungearachchi28@amherst.edu