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The Art of Drowning on Land
Life is a stream, they say.
Sometimes it's dark and turbulent and beat us against rocks of our design. Sometimes it's smooth and bright and lull us to false sleep. Other times it rises and sweeps us away and we sink, fight a losing fight and drown.
We drown but our feet still moves. We drown; our faces still crack smiles whilst our arms forever slack.
We drown and yet we're dry.
Our life isn't just a stream, nor an ocean. But a world of air and water. Air to keep alive and afloat. Water to carry us through.
Sometimes some make it. Sometimes some almost make it but are content halfway. Other times we give up before we're halfway and the air leaves and the water embraces and we drown.
We drown in our undiscovered greatness, in infinite possibilities of what could've been if we tried.
We drown on our rafts of regrets.
We drown before we die.
And when we finally die, it would be but a breeze because we've been dead all along.
© 0506girly
Sometimes it's dark and turbulent and beat us against rocks of our design. Sometimes it's smooth and bright and lull us to false sleep. Other times it rises and sweeps us away and we sink, fight a losing fight and drown.
We drown but our feet still moves. We drown; our faces still crack smiles whilst our arms forever slack.
We drown and yet we're dry.
Our life isn't just a stream, nor an ocean. But a world of air and water. Air to keep alive and afloat. Water to carry us through.
Sometimes some make it. Sometimes some almost make it but are content halfway. Other times we give up before we're halfway and the air leaves and the water embraces and we drown.
We drown in our undiscovered greatness, in infinite possibilities of what could've been if we tried.
We drown on our rafts of regrets.
We drown before we die.
And when we finally die, it would be but a breeze because we've been dead all along.
© 0506girly
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