Love isn't something he related to as he dove down beneath the black water.
Even for the fog that seemed to permeate the water, his mind felt clear.
Clear that he was on his own.
That his pain was swallowing him up and he couldn't do anything about it.
It was all consuming and those depths so cold only seemed to numb his body but not his emotions and so he stayed submerged as he made his way towards the bottom as though another stupid achievement would improve his feelings.
As though a life threatening distraction would be enough to lure his mind to a constant repeat of why he was on his own. It was peaceful in the water too.
It was raining too and it's heavy drops made him believe he was safer below then he was above.
His fingers stretched out to stroke the bottom and clutch the icy sand that would shout he'd done it.
But his fingers were not responsive and his thoughts almost slower.
The thought of anyone else wasn't instant or painful, but distant and for the first time irrelevant.
Yet even underwater you can feel your tears drip round your face like never before.
There was no view just, darkness.
Quiet and still.
To stay would be happiness to stay would mean not having to love hi-

But happiness isn't found when drowning at the bottom of the ocean.
And happiness wasn't real, but California was.
For him it was the land of the melancholy where every sunset brought new life and not that that meant new love but it meant hope could be found through the etched of orange.