The slippery, golden beads of water slip over my now-smooth skin as I exit the small, scented sea.
The sound of the surf gently pulls my ears as the waves pull my body. The setting sun sinking behind the now-silent island shoots the ocean full of gilt as my legs churn for a rocks beach and warm, fluffy towel.
Breath doesn't matter. Who needs oxygen when charged with the unmistakable feel of swimming through the substrata long, low promises, the bedrock beneath the hills of this ocean floor . . .