I forget to breathe.
When I’m underwater, I forget to breathe because everything around me distracts me.
The water, it is blue because the floor of the pool has soft blue tiles and I wonder if it wasn’t blue, would everything look white instead? Or see-through? Will I feel like I’m submerged in air instead of water? The liquid’s denseness doesn’t let me move much, and so I stay in one place, and I wonder if this is what it feels like to be in a mother’s womb, surrounded by liquid, left alone in a quite place, safe and submerged. The water feels like home, like this is where I should be. Everything is at peace. No harsh movements. Just me, submerged in the soundless, blue stillness. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Water comforts me. It flows in peace, or is still in one place, contemplating life. If I open my eyes, it stings. So I keep them closed, only paying attention to my other senses. My ears, my nose, my hands, my mouth, your mouth. And then I forgot to breathe again.. There’s so much of you that I take in with my eyes closed, that ‘speech’ goes beyond words and settles for silence. Silence except for a string of heart beats thudding inside a rib cage that I try to catch with my bare hands, like fireflies on a sticky, summer night. I taste strawberry tic tac. And sugar. A little coffee. And then I smile. Do you taste what I just ate, I ask into your mouth, my words falling into the minute space between us. You nod. My words, they are blurry, and childish but I think you heard them just fine. It feels liberating. Weightless, and free, as I find comfort in the words that are freed to the universe when we speak. I am me with you.
Every few minutes, I raise my head above the water so I can take a breath and collect myself… The sky looks different from underwater than when I look at it now. It’s pretty. Twisted. And the moon is dancing.
This picture, I wanted to leave it that way. Unended, a suspended moment in time.