I used to be the wave.
The wave
that thought rising
was my strength.
I’d build myself up,
pulled by the moon —
swelling,
aching,
just to hold on a little longer.
A wave
can only be
a wave
for so long
before it collapses
under its own weight.
It surrenders.
Crashes,
and becomes still water
once again.
Is letting go the same as giving up?
This crash —
It’s not defeat.
It’s arrival.
Ashton Hicks is a writer and film photographer based in Chicago, IL, whose work centres on the beauty of the everyday and the art of noticing