“The water is too deep for you.” That’s what you told me as you dove off the cliff, leaving me all alone. I jumped in after you despite your warning. It wasn’t because I missed you or felt pressured to; it was because I had to prove you wrong. The water was not too deep. Not for me.

I hovered one foot over the rocky waters and felt my body crash toward the open water. I fell with perfect posture and composure, all without feeling an ounce of fear pulse through my stiff veins. My feet reached the surface of frigid water, and I felt them slip through it along with the rest of my body. I quickly bounced back to the surface and inhaled the frosty air. You weren’t there when I rose.

I dived under the water again and opened my eyes in the stinging salt water. Your blue corpse was sinking to the bottom of the rocky ocean floor. I swam to the surface and caught my breath once more. You were right.

“The water is too deep for you.” That’s what I whispered as I swam back to the cliffs, leaving you all alone.