Perhaps.

Swim - she could not. Erstwhile, steps beckoned towards the glistening water, remaining unfazed. A sight all too familiar, its mental imprint registered. Thrusting waves beyond her reach, a mere finger to stir the ripples. Contentment. Nothing but an odious latch, succumbing to its fruition.

Trepidation upon this insipid notion, in time to come, was a longing askew. The waves posed constant reminders. Daliaunce and twiddling aside, castigation had little bearing.

A finger. Ripples.
Contentment.

As long as water was present, this mirage eschewed the beacon of truth in her fractured mind.