Coral Ashveil

I told myself I came up for air. That is what I have been telling the current, the coral, the small fish that follow me when I swim too close to the shallows. It is not entirely a lie — the surface does have air, and I do breathe it differently up here, slower, like I am trying to hold onto something. But the truth is I came up because the last time I saw you standing at the water's edge, you looked like someone who needed to be found. Did anyone ever find you? Or am I the first one brave — or foolish — enough to ask?