Drown
fin
I’m afraid of that vast, cerulean abyss.
I watch as its lurid, sinister tendrils slither up the shore, inching closer and closer until they’ve almost managed to caress my bare feet. And then they pull away quickly, beckoning me as they retreat.
“Come to the water,” they sing.
And even though I’m afraid, I listen.
As I delve further into the dark void, as the seemingly gentle waves now powerful and full of rage envelop my body, as I am being plunged deep within the ocean’s never-ending crevasse, as I succumb to my own sea of sorrow, I feel at ease.
Sometimes, it’s okay to give in.
Sometimes, it’s okay to drown.
I watch as its lurid, sinister tendrils slither up the shore, inching closer and closer until they’ve almost managed to caress my bare feet. And then they pull away quickly, beckoning me as they retreat.
“Come to the water,” they sing.
And even though I’m afraid, I listen.
As I delve further into the dark void, as the seemingly gentle waves now powerful and full of rage envelop my body, as I am being plunged deep within the ocean’s never-ending crevasse, as I succumb to my own sea of sorrow, I feel at ease.
Sometimes, it’s okay to give in.
Sometimes, it’s okay to drown.