In wellie boots
I wade through the years.
Tears of denial seep through
and splash into the top of these wellie boots
dragging me down
one by one.

Sticky in your grasp
I cling
wishing that mud could turn to stone.
trudging through the realization
that it never was
and never would be.

With each step these wellies
begin to separate.
They fall off and sink.
They’ve drowned.
I’ve waded into quicksand.

I laugh at the belief that these wellies
would be enough protection
from a much larger situation.
I’m laughing as I am slowly sinking
at least I’m not drowning unaware
that you would watch me suffocating.

Tears meet the years old tears dried at my feet
delusion meets grief.
Now at shoulder depth
I am laughing.
As I prepare to take my last breath
I am laughing.

I get pulled out while still laughing.
By someone who isn’t you.
and I see my wellie boots in the distance
dead and floating.

Now I jump in relief. Barefoot.