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.