At eighteen, I wanna dance with the waves. I wanna feel them crashing over me. I want to happily lie down with them... and try not to breathe under. Maybe the deeper, the better. Maybe the longer, the best.
At eighteen, I want to see how they continue to flow, I want to see how they fade by crashing over and over again.
I want to be one with the water and then flow, forever, through any season: through dried tears, through overflowing feelings.
But I know, the ocean is wide and it can never be dry. And waves will never be gone; and so as the pain, it will continuously flow through me... forever. Piercing every second like it doesn't hurt like hell.
Hell no. It hurts. So much.
But I know the waves are nothing compared to the pain. The current is not strong enough to drown me...
...but the pain does.
YOU ARE READING
At Eighteen
RandomHi! This is a compilation of poetries and essays I usually made to overcome my depressive episodes. Help me overcome every dark nights and help me share hopes and acknowledge purposes.
