by the time i learned how to walk, the soft soles of my feet have already known the feeling of waves slightly tickling my skin. i have spent most of my summers outside, by the shore, with the sun shining on my skin, and the water washing it off, over and over again.
when i was three, i learned how to swim. my floaties wont leave my arms for the next couple of years, but the air inside of them is already gone. with time, ill start to go further away from the shore. my hands will learn how to push the water away, my body will learn how to float. the waves will whisper my secrets back at me as my head goes beneath the surface. ill finally find peace.
the orange house was there for as long as i can remember. despite the walls constantly changing colors, the house will always stay orange in my memory. its stuck in time. the same framed beer advertisement, still hangs on the wooden walls. next to it, the same mirror with the same red comb no ones ever used. the expired toothpaste that no one will ever throw out stuck in the cupboard above the couch from my childhood home. my pink floaties, life jackets and the line that held our first swing. for as long as i can remember, it all stays the same.
this one summer, when i broke my arm and couldnt swim for a month, i returned to the shore. my feet wouldnt leave the solid ground, despite my desperate tries to swim with my hand up in the air. i tried everything to get the sun off of my shoulders, but nothing could ever work as well as water of the lake. that summer, i napped under apple trees and came up with stories for every duck on the lake. that was the summer they ate from our hands.
during the winter,ill start missing the sunshine on my shoulders. ill miss my tan skin, sand in my hair, the feeling of a blunt towel against my skin. during the winter, ill take baths, and put my ears underwater to remind nyself of the peace that only the summer waters can bring. but nothing ever works as well as the familiar feeling of bits of algae sticking to my skin, and a slight fishy smell stuck in the air. in my safest winter dreams, i hear my mother screaming about coffee. i can barely hear her, because the jet skis and the waves whisper their song to my ear. grandparents argue to my left, just to laugh it off in a minute or two. the fire is creaking, the dogs are playing. the sun is so bright it pierces through my closed eyelids.
even after a long time apart, bodies of water are no stranger to me. but when i distance myself, i can feel a part of me missing.and no matter how hard i try to deny it, my soul has its roots at the bottom of my lake in Warmia.