My Darling, you’re not you without your past.
I know you’re desperate, I know you’re hurting. You wish you would be allowed to drown in your ocean of nihilism, wish all the hands would stop dragging you back to the light with such firmness. It’s silent underwater, and your thoughts come to a stop, and you blink twice and see a blueish flicker on your skin. In the waters, you feel beautiful and pure, every inch of your existence is painted the colour of exemption. For what it’s worth, down here you could find real happiness, potentially, perhaps. And oh my Darling, I agree. What sweet easiness, to just close one’s tired eyes and float across a world that’s so far gone from ours. Down here, even the ever thirsty desires in our brains are far more patient, cry in subtle ways, sometimes even just a whisper. We’re content in here, and every blink of an eye we swim a little deeper. But my Darling, did nobody tell you that even the ocean isn’t limitless? The more heaviness is in your jump, the quicker you reach ground. Your toes will dig in the sand, and oh my Darling, what then? Where will you go next?
Your eyes flicker open, your heartbeat is steady, your lungs are waterless. Your skin has a sunburn, but you’re untouched otherwise. What a shame, am I right? What a shame. We must have daydreamed. The liberation we’ve felt in the waters was an artificial one. It keeps calling us, and we live our lives with one leg in the ocean and one on land. We ache for change, for something which either drags us in entirely or which cuts the ties so we can finally be free. The unchanging moment turns us into lunatics. And we’re indecisive. Freedom is a choice, you believe in it just as much as I do and yet, and yet we’re tempted to remain within the defined lines of who we draw us to be. If we let go of that, if we choose lightness, if we choose the sea, who will guarantee us the happiness we’ve been promised by voices as old as the stars?