III. 津波 (the water flooding)

you reach and retreat, the eternal recoil, much like the waves of the sea. i bury my feet into the sand and try not to drown once the wave hits me, but i am too weak to hold it off, and i can’t breathe. it might sound ironic to talk about drowning when it comes to you but it actually makes a lot of sense. it’s painfully silent underwater, the pressure crushing my chest, and it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it always does, it always fucking does. and as the water floods my lungs, i pray for the burning to stop, and i figure it has got to, at some point, but it never does, and i have given up on hope a long, long time ago. a thousand cycles, the eternal abyss. claws buried on chests, howling alone at night, throwing up blood, punching walls, your screaming, and the eternal burning i have grown to cherish so deeply because it keeps you safe inside of me, somewhere. you are the only one who has ever deserved the privilege of drowning me, of fucking me up like that. maybe that’s all we have ever had. but every night, without fail, i beg some kind of invisible, miraculous higher power to keep you with me this time, to let you stay. but just like orbits, or waves, you never do. and i can’t help but feel grateful for every cycle, every touch, every word that comes out of your mouth, intermittently but just as real as your constant, invisible presence, just as real as the burning in my chest. i can’t help but feel grateful for every knife you drove through my flesh. i can’t help but feel grateful for the sweet fucking pain you insist on inflicting me. and maybe that’s all we will ever have.