I must say this before I begin.
I must say that I might not be in the best state of mind, nor temperament, but I feel that if I were to say anything now it will be valid, and serve in relief, even if it is only for a moment.
If I were to ask you of one favor, it would be to call me a fool. I wanted to know, because inside I feel this way, and if someone were to tell me, then I won’t feel alone anymore.
I walked home just now; I endured ten, maybe fifteen minutes, taking each step down the stairs, each step on to the street, and then the rest of the 3,187ft home carefully taken so as not to shatter apart like a submarine that fell into the abyss. The deeper I go, the harder it is to ascend, as the pressure increases, I am questioning my integrity, my strength, my endurance, and my worth. My surface begins to crack, bubbles form in the shape of doubt as I continue to dive. I sometimes wonder if I am delusional as I continue, whether I am the only one that sees this faint light in the darkness. And with each foot, I am learning of how to live with myself, with all my rationality seeping through the cracks. By the end, I might not be recognizable; perhaps I will be a creature of the sea. I will swim with the dolphins, as they too came from the land once, as I forget of tree green, of earth brown, of concrete and marble, just water onto water. I think of the pain of water rushing into my lungs, but the relief of no longer holding my breath. I can stop fighting now. And once I am subdued, taken under the depths and washed anew, I will no longer be I to who I am today. Graced by the light, I will have no words, no words at all.
So can you call me a fool, and I’ll call this love.
I must say that I might not be in the best state of mind, nor temperament, but I feel that if I were to say anything now it will be valid, and serve in relief, even if it is only for a moment.
If I were to ask you of one favor, it would be to call me a fool. I wanted to know, because inside I feel this way, and if someone were to tell me, then I won’t feel alone anymore.
I walked home just now; I endured ten, maybe fifteen minutes, taking each step down the stairs, each step on to the street, and then the rest of the 3,187ft home carefully taken so as not to shatter apart like a submarine that fell into the abyss. The deeper I go, the harder it is to ascend, as the pressure increases, I am questioning my integrity, my strength, my endurance, and my worth. My surface begins to crack, bubbles form in the shape of doubt as I continue to dive. I sometimes wonder if I am delusional as I continue, whether I am the only one that sees this faint light in the darkness. And with each foot, I am learning of how to live with myself, with all my rationality seeping through the cracks. By the end, I might not be recognizable; perhaps I will be a creature of the sea. I will swim with the dolphins, as they too came from the land once, as I forget of tree green, of earth brown, of concrete and marble, just water onto water. I think of the pain of water rushing into my lungs, but the relief of no longer holding my breath. I can stop fighting now. And once I am subdued, taken under the depths and washed anew, I will no longer be I to who I am today. Graced by the light, I will have no words, no words at all.
So can you call me a fool, and I’ll call this love.
I love your writing.
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