A word. A song. A teardrop of--what?
I can't begin to trace the outline of how I feel.
I can't write anymore.
I put a word down but it doesn't feel right.
Backspaced. Deleted. Another choice. An Alternative.
But no. I struggle to articulate myself.
Floundering around like submerged in the depths of the sea
And all is murky all around. A slump of blue and black and
Orbs of green shadows lurking, oscillating between
Illumination and oblivion. Wildly flailing for something solid,
Calm thudding escalating rapidly towards a blind panic,
A desperate attempt to reach out,
Hair billowing out in the waters,
Entangled themselves like everything else.
I cannot swim; the water is dense, like wading through mud
or swamps with thick mangrove undergrowth,
every move cumbersome, leaden, as though a blur.
A clash of outward retardation and inward trepidation.
I feel choked. Stifled. I can't hold my breath any longer.
Flailing like I'm drowning.
And then.
My mouth opens.A silent O.A resignation.My shoulders slump in defeat.My head drops forward.
The solitary air bubble--my last remaining breath--pulsates to the surface.

Isn't it strange, how something as flimsy and frail as a bubble can hold its form under so much water pressure? There must be bubbles in the deepest end of the ocean. And isn't it strange, how, the only way for a bubble, is up? And how tragic it is, that in travelling to its destination, it remains resilient; only to burst into nothingness upon reaching the surface. Has it seen the light and hence its resilience is satiated?

Are humans not like bubbles?