then a bad.
bad that follows you.
bad like a sinkhole.
an unrelenting urge to lay your head down on the table, wherever you are, whoever you are with.
a night of vivid dreams, and when you wake,
all day you hold one dream close
because in it
everything was back the way it once was.
it feels like
you've fallen overboard. You are swimming, swimming to get back,
but the boat moves steadily away. You can see the lights; you can hear the laughter and the music on the decks. You tread water. The boat moves away.
it feels like missing. You miss your friend. You miss your friends. You miss the laughter, the cups of tea, the times on the couch with small children showing you stories. You miss confiding and letting go. You miss everyone. You miss talking, being, sharing together.
you miss them. You miss them. You miss them.
and all you want is to walk into a forest
and cover yourself with leaves.
So.
What do you do?
I suppose you keep treading water. You keep your head up, as tired as you are.
You look north south east west.
You see,
there, and there, and there,
other boats. How did you not see them before? They are all around.
Perhaps,
you swim.
Perhaps, you hold up a hand.
As tired as you are,
perhaps you wave until someone sees you.
You swim.
People stand at the deck's edge. They throw out a line,
and you pull and they pull. Hand over hand over hand.
A ladder comes down. It takes everything you have, everything that's in you, to grab that ladder. You pull up. Hand over hand over hand.
It takes a long time.
To swim. To wave. To pull. To rise.
When you enter the new boat, this always-there-but-for-the-seeing boat,
you are exhausted.
But all around you are faces,
smiling.
People bring you blankets, warm drinks. They watch over you.
They keep you close, these beautiful people.
They keep you above the water.
.
