Holeheart

A Broken Lake

March 1st, 2021

Oh, how the fear gripped me like I was sinking in water too deep to stand in. Seeing you on the shore made me want to swim out farther than I ever have. How could I, all over again, learn to be vulnerable? How could I expose the gore inside of me, when horror is not something you enjoy? I don't want to scare you. But I'm afraid that might be a lie. I don't want to scare myself. You're in love with me. You're already in love with me, you just don't know that yet. But I am someone who is drowning, and I have been for quite some time, and I don't know how much longer I can keep this up. I don't know how much room I have left in my lungs. I am scared to breathe again. It doesn't feel normal. What feels normal is the bottom of the lake, the tightness on my throat, the heaviest weight on my heart, the dark blue shadowing over me. What feels normal is the pain of sinking so deep, even just a kick off the sandy floor feels like freedom. What feels normal is the life in the lake passing me by and seeing me struggle, but knowing ultimately only I can swim back up. What feels normal is questioning if I even want to swim back up. So how am I supposed to feel when I see you swimming out to the middle of the lake? How am I supposed to feel when I see your silhouette sinking down to me on the sandy floor? How am I supposed to feel when the hand you offer to me isn't coercing a yes from my lips? How am I supposed to feel when you make me want to swim up with you? How am I supposed to feel when we take that breath of fresh air together? How am I supposed to feel when I stand on the shore hand in hand with you? How am I supposed to feel when the warm sun begins to dry my clothes and skin? How am I supposed to feel when everything that felt normal is at the bottom of that lake, and now I am standing here on the shore, soaked and cold and alone? But not really alone, right? You're next to me now.

R.K.