Water

Today, I swam in the ocean.  The waves were crashing down heavily, and there was a strong current pulling to the north.  As I struggled to wade out deeper, I saw that there was a man swimming nearby, alone as well.  We both battled wave after wave simultaneously.  I became aware of a connection that had formed between this stranger and myself, for although we never exchanged a syllable, we were fighting the same fight.  We used the same motions to push on through the rough waters, and each distance gained felt like a small victory.  Together, yet separately, we persevered through the abiding force of the ocean.  

The Tragic Life

The tragic life is easily disappointed.  The tragedy never takes place, yet life is left at a seemingly slower and less dramatic pace, which can easily be misconstrued as boredom.  Prior to the let down, thoughts of "what if...." envelope the mind, and paranoia is sure to ensue.  Is it better to invent ridiculously magical scenarios merely to become fearful and discontented, or to live without a wild and curious imagination?