A sinking feeling. Stones dropping to the bottom of an endless pit in your stomach, pulling your organs inside out, never quite reaching the bottom. A frown, a sigh. Closed eyes and throbbing temples, nail beds bitten raw and bleeding. Tears of frustration. A sinking feeling.
Spread thin like water on cement, a tension coil ready to snap. Falling isn't flying. A sinking feeling. Only when we drown do we regret not loving the air we breathed in without thinking. When we cut off their fins sharks drown, because the only way they can breathe is if they keep moving. Is that a metaphor? If we don't move on we drown.
Sometimes I think I'll die surrounded by colours I'll never see. Sometimes these colours make their way into my dreams. Someone once told me to write down how I felt but when I put pen to paper I found that I couldn't write anything and the page stayed empty, and that resonated deep inside me like a sad and lonely note echoing through an empty space. A sinking feeling that nothing is quite right, a lingering unease that creeps up your spine. Exposed. Feeling. Sinking and then drowning.
