Life Writing

The Squid Pt.11

“It’s poison!” she yells as she darts across the room to slap the drink out of my hand.

I was looking forward to that. I didn’t think I’d be anywhere near here again. Let alone surrounded by a cloud of abundant potential. Because that’s what it oozes. My knee-jerk reaction to flee will do more harm to another than myself. Which is selfishly easy to swallow. That is, until I look into the eyes of a happiness and feel in my core that I’d be slaying the brightest star in my night’s sky.

I can’t help but want to cry. As my chest tightens too hard I find myself pulling away and pausing. I’m trying to catch my breath, slow my heart, and cease all quivering. I cannot taste the wine without getting weak. It’s noticed. While the commentary provided is welcoming, It scare me to think that my vulnerability to this charm and smouldering stare is as evident as she makes it sound. I’m a toddler in a pool. Frantic in my attempt to stay afloat. With horror plastered on my normally melancholy face. I am flailing.

It is still unclear whether this cephalopod is trying to drown me — she won’t let up with that insatiable glare. Or… Is it her goal to save me?  Pushing me to the surface and out of her water. Determined to remain irrelevant to me, and the strands that puppet us. I haven’t felt in control since the start. I ended up in the drink. Alas, I have not discovered if I am the only one who wants me here. The chattering of my ribs, and shoulders are the only signs that the water level is rising. If only the sea wasn’t so murky.

The wind tries to speak for the ocean, without the ability to commit to a current. The wind is wild. Recklessly whipping. The water is grounded. It follows the earth, and sticks to the same patterns it knows. Bending and dragging along the same flow is has for centuries.

Will it take drowning? Not quite a nightmare. If I become one with the ocean floor, will it accept me into her routine?

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