with all my love for the ocean, i think about drowning myself when i see a body of water.
in the dead of night, my feet toe the line between the sand and the sea. i could be swept away in a matter of seconds, but i don’t think that would fulfill me. perhaps drowning would allow me to escape my feelings of dread and despair, instead i’d feel a sense of overall revelation. sometimes all you need is to exist near something else and it’ll calm you down. i’ve only been the beach a few times in my life, but each time i let the water consume me.
(dear ocean, i’d be honored to drown in you.)
gazing up my reflection in the water, there’s more of me than there should be. but all of this is distant, isn’t it? or is water the only place i can put everything down? i should let the earth recycle my anger and regret over and over until the rivers and lakes overflow. just because i let it in doesn’t mean i have to keep it.
you must let things be enough. you don’t though… you poke and prod until things unravel before you. i’ll give you a moment to remove the anxiety eating away inside your bones; it no longer serves you, well it never did.
have you tried drowning it? just place your head underwater and scream.
let oxygen fight to reach your lungs. let those shaky hands of yours claw away at the porcelain bathtub beneath your fingers. this could be your way home, if you want it. bring the sorrow and regret stored in your brittle bones and toss it in water. it’s better for it to recycled outside rather than in. think of it like this: you’re bringing the water a gift that can be reused for centuries; think of this as your legacy.
drowning isn’t a punishment. it’s a second cleansing, we all need another baptism at some point. don’t you wished to be cleansed? come on, daydreamer, feed this misery of yours to the water. step by step, one foot in front of the other, walk yourself off the dock toward the lake. go as quick as you can before someone catches you, though no one will come looking for you anyways. just walk into the water and let it swallow you whole. it hasn’t feasted in decades, isn’t it lovely that you’re the next meal? don’t struggle, water has given you nothing but love. isn’t that what you always wanted? a love so big it consumes and consumes?
one time someone told me that my writing feels like walking down an empty beach just before dawn when it’s just slightly too cold for comfort. it’s one of the best things i’ve ever heard.