A letter from a drowning girl:

Tonight I am alone
Much like other nights
but tonight my head spins
and I cant shut it off.
Tonight I think about love
and ships
and how they sink
and how we have no control over that.
I listen to music, I watch a movie, I drink cinnamon tea
They distract me briefly and in small measures.
Mostly I picture open water
thinking this will soothe me
but again I start thinking about these ships
White sails weathered brown and rugged from the storms that pass
in and out of you and me.
wood splintered and digging into my feet.
and how even with all this I still refuse to jump
I still refuse to swim.
I only keep my eyes open for another ship
prepare myself ready to make the jump.
Love is not heavy, but mine is.
And if I’m not sinking in you
I’m sinking in me.
Only I go deeper.
And it’s cold down here in the places within myself I pretend aren’t there.
So I claw at the water praying for a saviour
a god, a man, a little bit of truth
something other than myself to keep me afloat.
Somewhere warm to crawl into
cause when I’m thinking about you
I’m not thinking about me.
No, love is not heavy
But mine is.
and I search within myself for the mermaid
the siren, the scaled flipper, the thrust
the last little part of me that believes I know how to swim.
praying that even the search its self will keep me afloat

Just for today.
Just for this minute.
Just for this second.
I am here.