Diving Beneath the Surface

I have dived beneath the surface, holding my breath until my chest became an unquenchable fire, straining my eyes, willing them to remain open despite the pressure, despite the unfamiliar.

I have dived beneath the surface of love to see past the meaning derived from fairytales and white stallions and princes who would never leave for that other princess with the body unravaged by childbirth.

I have seen the meaning of love swimming with sharks before disappearing inside the wreckage of a lost ship, a tomb for one-handed myths and one-eyed legends where there is no treasure to be found.

I have seen love change into something to be displayed within the soft mouth of a mollusk – a simple beauty, pure and natural. I have seen it in the aged skeleton of deep-sea corals – steady, strong, unmoving.

Yes, I have dived beneath the surface, holding my breath until my chest became an unquenchable fire, straining my eyes, willing them to remain open despite the pressure, despite the unfamiliar.

But the fire in my chest inevitably becomes too painful and threatens to consume me. The pressure behind my eyes becomes too much and threatens to rupture them. It is one thing to have sight in the unfamiliar, but to be blind?

Perhaps men are not meant to dive beneath the surface…

Surface

 

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