If Love is Water, then I am a desert, for it is something my lips have never tasted, a thirst that’s never been quenched, a sea I’ve never stepped into.
I’m often asked why I don’t take a plunge into the unknown and dive into the sea of love that awaits before me; the water of wanders, an ocean of life. And here’s why….
Whilst I watch from the dry sideline, I see with intent the dives made by others into their own waters. Plunges from different heights into their oceans; some big, some hollow, some cold, some shallow. I’ve seen them all, people coming in and out, jumping back in again and again. I’ve seen kisses of life made beneath these waters, and seen tears get drowned out. Some consumed by its majestic ways, others seemingly unfazed. And though everyone’s pool is different, therein lies their own special pearls waiting to be uncovered beneath the rich waves of the water: treasures for the brave.
Yes I stand back and watch as people submerge themselves, taking flight headfirst, surrendering to the fall into love… But my sea is not one I can dip my toes into, for my waters are a different kind.
I see the tide and know what awaits me; I recognise my sea that faces me. Above the rich blue water – of depths unknown and unexplored – just as a frozen lake, my sea of love bares a hard, ice cold surface; a solid shell that can be broken into but not surfaced back through.
I know that if I so much as even peak over into the blue carelessly, I’ll slip straight into the descend. But unlike others, once I’m in, there’s no coming out. I’ll be submerged in the waters beneath the solid, freezing surface unable to escape. A captive of the waters; strong and volatile, merciless and intense, taking no prisoners, except the body I recklessly sacrifice.
A single trip, a single crack, and I’ll see how deep it runs. I’ll be consumed so wholly that I’ll become the waters washing over me. But I only get one dive. One plunge. One entry. If I’m lucky, my one trip will come at the right time towards the right one; my love will give me breath beneath the waters. I’ll become overfilled, drunk in bliss; a miracle of love. But if my submerge comes at the wrong time, I’ll be left alone in a still, frozen sea, immortalized in a love so deep that I’ll drift with the tides and get lost forever, unable to surface back for air.
“The happiness of the drop is to die in the river” – my fate is tied to my drop. For I know my sea; life and death… the beginning and the end… Once in, I’m in – it will become me, hit or miss.
So for now I wait in the margins like a marbled statue looking towards the ocean, in longing, in yearning, but not yet in love. The showering rain touches the surface of my skin and allows me to sense what awaits through infatuation, but I wait, anticipating the day I know for sure if I am to survive the fall and be reborn, or drown and become a martyr to the cause.
Diary of a Deluded Heart
Written: October 6th 2015
Published: August 15th 2016