you close your eyes, and you let yourself sink lower,
let the warm water lap at your skin
and melt against your goose bumps,
the stark contrast of the bitter cold above you
and the warmth beneath you
taking you by surprise
the image suddenly shatters as you open your eyes,
and you feel like you're dry again,
bone and dust and wind,
but you try to relax and exhale,
letting your fingers fall slowly from the lip of the tub,
the porcelain a slip-slide of satin
against the ridges of your skin
your breathing slows, and you smile a little,
think to yourself that this isn't uncomfortable, it's even ideal,
and you wonder if the peace you have now will strengthen
if you submerge yourself completely
so you let your body sink further, let the caress of the water
reach your neck, your jaw, your sealed lips, your hairline
you are now completely blanketed, the water
a vast ocean around you, and you're a little scared now,
because you wonder about the creatures of the deep and the dark
and what lies coiled in the shadows,
of what lies in the things you have no knowledge of
you try going completely still,
and when you compare the nothing and the no one
that waits for you outside
to the galaxy of bubbles surrounding you,
your mind goes blank
after a few seconds it all feels right again,
as right as your wretched life could ever possibly get,
and you feel as calm as god must have felt
when he was creating mankind
it's amazing and wonderful
and it's like tasting freedom and the sweet pop of carelessness
This is how what you've been searching for must feel like.
This is what your solution must feel like.
This is what finally letting go must feel like.
So, inhaling the ocean,
you do.
Based on a random metaphor my Creative Writing teacher came up with.
