I step into the hot pool within my own bathroom one foot at a time, though I’m so anxious I could practically dive in.

The moisture excites my Pisces soul as my heart swims in my chest at the joy of the total immersion as I slip in once again.

As my body slides into place amidst the familiar warm water, only contained by the cheap plastic walls of a bathtub that know me so well, I feel at home again.

A bath, to me, is quiet pleasure that brings me back every night, the ritual that I often daydream of as I nod off in class, and the activity that I’ll miss most when I’m off attending college.

In that tub, I feel cleansed and refreshed. I feel like the “Bath time Belladonna,” the “Bathtub Baroness,” a “Shampoo Sultan,” and often, like a “Missing Mermaid.”

I don’t have to be swimming, splashing water, or playing around to enjoy myself, though I do love doing so.

Simply wading is all it takes to ease a wounded heart and my worried mind. The water and I are one. In that moment I am free, I am fluid, and I am fearless.

Growing up, I was scared and insecure. At pool parties I kept my tomboy-ish clothes on and never jumped in. I was meek and mild, ever yearning for the splash against my smiling face as the chill grabbed my scrawny legs and pulled me under.

In the quiet of my own steamed over bathroom, I find that same satisfaction.

Droplets of water rolling over each other and my own skin are the only focus I have. Their rhythmic drip dropping rings new in my ears.

I am like a child, still naïve and discovering myself. My eyes are wide and my heart is open, and I am vulnerable in the most wonderful kind of way.

I feel like the kite who got away; I am redefined and up to my own interpretation. I feel as if I’m erasing my novel; I’m due for rewriting and editing, and can be anything I want. My heart has never been so full and content as it is when I’m again alone with the water.