Be Like Water

It’s not like I’m not used to water.

I’ve felt its touch on my skin so many times.

Chlorinated childhood hobbies, soap sudded hygiene routines; fat drip- droplets from the sky, soaking through fabrics of all kinds regardless of the day, date or time.

But this water is new. It fills and it empties, ice cold and salted like the sea. Swelling me like a sponge before rinsing me out, wave after wave after wave. I’ve stopped gasping for breath, now able to breathe with brine-filled lungs. Discomfort is now comfort because at least it's constant, at least it is there.

Emptiness waits patiently for me, watching. Its arms already outstretched in faux concern, humming “there, there” under its breath as it fights the corners of a forming grin. I’d punch its fucking face in if only there was something to hit.

Wailing, like a temper-tantrum toddler. Wailing like a windmill with fists. Wishing that I could just vomit this all up and be done with it, vomit so hard that even for an instant, I forget, for an instant I think that things are the way they were. It would be worth it just for that.

But I do want to live the rest of my life in an instant?

There is anger coming.