by Chandu Govind

I grew up tied to the ocean. My brothers and I—the three of us—trampling on sandcastles and sharks, watching our footsteps wash away with the blue. Our father the surf, our mother the salt; us, tucked away in their warm embrace of a magnetic shore. But childhood is only as long as your hair stays untangled when you wrestle a wave. Now, we drown under headlights and neon signs, grey walls and corporate nights. There is no such thing as the tide, only the push and pull of everything we once knew.