Disgusting

Instead of crashing out, I rose, water cupped in my hands, pouring silence over skin. —just the right time. And I wonder.. why ask to be left ashore when I begged, once, to sail this exact sea? Why do I do this every time? I dive in headfirst, swallowed by the ocean’s intensity, becoming it.. until the wave realizes it’s not just a wave, but the ocean itself. Then I retreat. I’m out. Always just before it gets dangerous. All in from the start, then out like it burns. Hate that for me.

So I distract myself now.. sip water laced with three lemon slices, stare into a sky so deep it might answer back, and inhale like the air owes me something. Like maybe I deserve to be here, still. And I am disgusted. Not with the world, but with the way I experience. How deeply, how wildly, until it turns my own stomach. Swear it’s always the good things. The ones full of light that make me want to look away.