The water moves over your fingertips; frigid and glistening in the moonlight. Your body cut through it with ease, because water wants nothing more than to embrace you. One arm after the other; shooting forward and letting the liquid practically rush into you veins. Its purity caresses your cheeks; kisses the skin that feels one with mass you've found yourself in.
Turn cheek to cheek; letting yourself take supple gasps of air. You feet kick you forward, chopping with such fineness in regression it feels you're hardly doing the work yourself.
Swimming.
The purest form of movement; so alluring one can't help but fall under its spell. It is freedom, companionship; maybe even love.
And I will never swim again.