Still, waters run deep

I am on the edge again. Often negotiating the fluid and the impenetrable. Survivor of storm and drought. I built with the things that surrounded me; swamps, floods, water reeds; and the strength of being beached.
You wanted to leave by Ferry. Here we are on the edge of your freedom. We swamped each other but I built the core of your foundations on immutable rock. Elements would thrash our peace, hopes like quartz forced to capitulate; metamorphise: Proliferating to accept fierce flooding; to accept seasons of generous drowning; to accept vast calm.
Does your smile forgive a trillion tumultuous waves? Is it the relief of exchanging entrenched rule for buoyancy? Soon you will be washed away from me. Waves eased you out of my body. Soon you will be standing on the deck, staring down your uncharted waters. Leaving behind the surf and fresh swims. City gym membership already bought, with the promise of lane swimming, an apartment, and eating when and where you like: The era of ‘the parental pleasure drought’ is over.
My cheek feels the linger of dry lips. Sure, you taste the salt in my tears.
My horizons will not narrow. When you were tiny, turbulent waters ignited me. I gathered water reeds to insulate our love. I will keep home and my life will reconcile this and other storms. Waves will still tease my feet and the strength of crushed quartz will carry me.