Today I’m so utterly sad I can barely breathe. I’m so far beneath the velvet, wrapping weight of a grief I can’t articulate that the light is just something I think I once imagined. Seventh wave swells that catch me unawares. Just when I’ve caught my breath. Just when I’ve found my feet. I’m under again. Knocked down. Knocked out. I know it’ll pass, I know. Like a metronome against my breast bone. I know, I know. (I hope, I hope). And still the luminous dark rises against me. Gulping, fighting, the first faint fingers of panic creeping. I’ve forgotten how to float, how to be, how to live within the calm circle of breath in, breath out. How to let the tide of all this pain hold me up instead of pulling me under. It’s indulgent. Selfish. Boring. (And though it all, I hear you say “I told you so”. And I’m pissed off because you’re wrong. But right. But so wrong again.) And still the water rises. Every day another flood. (Every night receding.) And I don’t know what to do. Run. Weep. Hold out my arms and shout “fuck you” to the world and this tiny fragment I exist in. I have no where to go. I have only this (…there’s only this, no day but today…) I have only this for now. I can have anything I want. Except knowing what it is that I want. And feeling the weight of all that possibility, wasted.