english,
Literary: high tide
Every once in a while, I wake up drowning.
It does not have a face, and yet it is wholly familiar in the way it rests heavy in my weary bones, settling comfortably in the crevices of my chest as one would a home. It is present in every breath I take—or rather, try to take, as it fills my lungs to the brim and grasps my heart like a hand holding on for dear life.
Longing is its name—and I can do little but watch as it drags me down, down to the deepest depths of the sea.
It taunts me in our descent, torments me with memories of a time filled with bright-eyed smiles and shared warmth and a foolish certainty that things would remain as they are; a time when longing was nothing but a passing stranger instead of this unwelcome companion that seeks to take what little solace I have left.
It is then that I allow myself to sink, sink—
The sound of laughter cuts through the muffled haze.
Suddenly, I remember how to swim.
I wake to the bright glare of sunlight seeping through my bedroom window. For a moment, all is quiet and still—and then I hear it once again: the laughter of my loved ones; the same laughter that gave me the courage to swim ashore. It is then that I realize: I may not be as happy as I once was, but I am alive and well.
For now, it is enough.
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