when i was younger, every time i dove into a pool, i would test myself to see how long i could hold my breath. i would count the seconds in my head, in the eerie silence, in the muffled utopia that swelled around me in the deep, weightless water. and every time i got closer and closer to the end of my breathe, i would feel a tight pressure around my neck, and my eyes would swell, and i would for a moment lose myself in the most exhilarating and most terrifying experience.

and then i would shoot out the air from my lungs into the water. the bubbles would burst and jet out from my nostrils and mouth. and i would resurface, breaking the water - gasping for a new gulp of oxygen.

i feel the same way when i let somebody in. when i trust somebody new. i feel like the air i held on to for so long escapes and i need to hurry to the surface for safety. i need to beg the atmosphere for air.