Sleep is such a distant and foreign land when I find myself lost at Sea.
My past visits me. She’s here to remind me that I am an expert at falling apart. With album in hand, she shows me the same picture, page after page. Changing expressions and different locations, but always the same out of focus photo. The same broken lens. The same outcome.
Each prayer I quietly whisper is interrupted by my truth. Sunshine always sneaks out of the party so early and darkness overstays her welcome, leaving a trail of destruction behind the slamming door.
I’m holding back the raging river with only my pinky. I have a whole body to use to fight the building pressure, yet I forge on with the smallest part of my hand. Somewhere inside, I’m aware of my strong arms, but my past tells me they’ll buckle. They feel useless. An army of people would help if they knew I was ready to collapse. Depression reminds me I was meant to feel this pain. Burden no one, Child. You must run the race alone.
The violent waters deceive me. I start to notice the warmth they bring. The Comfort. I envision being wrapped in that turquoise embrace, the lullaby of hypnotic waves rocking me to sleep.
Letting go of the outside noise. Splash. Resting. Drifting. No more fighting. Splash. Falling. No more noise. Silence.