I've been sitting at the bottom of the swimming pool for a while now.
When you get to the pool floor like a touchdown, listen. I hear it. The soft staccatos of unhinged metal stairs creaking, the blubbering of your breathing, the waves that goes in and out both your ears. When your consciousness plays little music for your heart, you listen.
And I did.
Oh, what an undeniable truth that the human psyche is extremely fragile. How little did it took for me to second guess the truth. Hear the marching of the clouds on Thursday afternoon winding over heartaches. You come around when you are at ease, leave it all aside when it all tumble down. The hurt hovers over skins of us and burnt the hearts on our sleeves leaving barren burn marks. And how much it hurt me to float relentlessly to stare at the Thursday sun and asking whatever is watching over me, if you would stay.
I felt empty. Wrote to my 13 years old self in future tenses, wrote to my 35 years old self in past tenses. But I reminded both of them about you as if I were to love you since the inception of my existence to the very end of it. Both of the postcards have your name written on it. I deemed them holy scripture.
Let me know that if one day you do not wake up alone anymore and you decide that you don't love me anymore.
