I’m living underwater, and I can’t hear anything but the white current of our fears. I’m listening to the music of our quiet, to the strain of concealment. My face is gray, and my eyes are closed. My mouth is closed.
I’m drifting, arbitrary, absent. If I could rise to the surface, the free of a new day, I’d welcome my heart to the light, my self into living.
I am clothed in propriety. I am masked by culture. I am dark with fear.
I am living underwater, and I see you drifting next to me. Can we reach for the warmth above us, finally kick our feet and kick our masks, and break the surface of this heavy sea? Float upon the waves, unengulfed, to finally breathe….