I hold my breath.
It pains me to think I filled this basin...
Drop by drop...
So I can burry my head beneath the slap of water.
My hair tickles my cheeks as they swim.
Only when I'm allowed to, I raise my head
(just before I loose the fight with myself
to fill the void in my lungs from my screams).
I cough and listen:
The deafening heartbeat punctuated by whimpers and sloshing water
is broken as foreign air and sound renew the canals of my ears.
Your sweet voice is there
and I listen dumbly - blissfully - to it
as my damp cheeks are met with your warm palms
(like pebbles holding the heat of the sun).
We hold each other.
I remember of fond dreams.
And just as my hair sheds its watery seal,
parting and rising from my scalp in ribbons
I hold my breath again,
stabbing my face into the basin of water.
It's a ritual I'm to practice.
I survive by swallowing my desires and longings,
painful as they are to go down
when only to be brought back up in the end.