3. this isn't actually about you but i keep lying (08.03.2020)

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it wasn't always like this, hands shaking and eyes searching for just a hint of recognition, of recollection, a tired thought dragged back out of the quiet lake it was drowned in. there's invisible borders dug into the sand, permanent reminders of everything i (we) need to be. but we laugh and we're silent and there's something i always cannot seem to say; in these moments my eyes stray away from those lines etched in the ground and fall instead onto the lines painted across your outstretched palm. by now, i can no longer tell if you're asking me guide you back or waiting for me to follow.

it wasn't always like this, because i distinctly the weight of your head against my shoulder, blood thrumming in my ears as i tried to cover the shake in my breath. i'm underwater but it's fine like this, i've long stopped fighting for air and i let the waves wash over my head as the water fills my lungs. and it's not like you're the water, or anything like it, because nothing about this is the cool clear confidence you carry with you. no, the oceans around me are far more bloodlike, murky and thick and warm, suffocating me in such a gently familiar way that it can only be of my own accord. i close my eyes and let go, and a voice echoes through me, soft as a breath.