Air bubbles

Hold, hold on, let go and jump and I want to jump so I ramp up the pace of my blood, squeeze my heart into my veins, let each vibration of you let me soar into the water, air bubbles pumped through arteries will help me float for long enough to see underneath it all, through the blue, to the coral growing back, it’s starched history forgiving and choosing to live, and so it thrives up the edges of the cliffs that root underwater, climbing but hiding beneath the top lick of liquid. I think I know where your veins run and they are blossoming with coral flowers and mine want to swim deep enough to grow again.

Swimming is existing in two worlds. The one people can see, the world in which everyone circulates, functioning and changing and where clocks tell us where to be and when, and apparently we are wasting it, it does things to us anyhow, we decompose unless we transport ourselves alongside it, side karting to the big guy, wind flustering the tops of our hair, skin crumpled and creased to keep out the cold. Hold on, it says and let go.

Beneath the lid of the wave, is the silent world, the unsaid, the delusion and the artistry. The things that can’t be summed up or pinpointed down. It is the essence of us, what makes the upstairs bearable is the knowledge that there’s more, more to feel for, grapple in the silent dim of the unknown and dive further and float for longer as the air bubbles in your veins keep you alive, as the water slides against your skin, moving out of the way for you, forgiving you, giving you the chance to come clean, rinsing you of the grief and the things hardly worth bearing. Down here, it is breathable, down here, there is always something bigger than you but it is because of you that the tide swells and the water breaks.