When you swirl down to the bottom of the pool, the bottom of the sea, you must try to find the light and head towards it. You need to come up for air, break out into the light.
Right now, as I feel the sand between my fingers and the seaweed entwined around my legs, I can only catch an occasional glimpse of the light.
I've been told that it's there, that it's the direction to take. But right now, that cold, damp, grainy sand sticking to my fingers, the leathery ribbon-like seaweed clinging to my skin, prevent me from breaking free of this watery cloak, prevent me from struggling back up to where there is light.
To where there is air to breathe.