Rip Tide

Three times I reach my hand.

Three times you let me go.

Deliberately.

With intent.

Rip tide has you.

If I dove into your current,

Lived your death,

Shared your fate,

Would that help?

Rip tide wants me, too.

So I stay here, grounded,

while you're carried out to sea,

rejecting every rescue.

Unmoored.

This is a Sunday Scribblings post.