Falling Slowly

I picture him floating. High above me in an ocean. He is treading water and I am drowning in it. He can see clearly across the glassy surface of the water with nothing to obstruct his view, and deep, down below him I am blind. I can use the tips of my fingers, but nothing else. I can only take away what I imagine to be there. Far, far below him. Struggling against all these visions of my own devices. He is held down by nothing. He thinks I’m right next to him, softly treading, too. I’m not. I am far, far below him.

I can’t tell if this is real. Trust your gut. Listen to your heart. Don’t let your fears get in the way of taking a risk. Let go of the past. I can’t do it all at once. Am I trusting my gut, or am I letting my imagination run away with me?

“Who is she?!”

“A friend of Dave’s. There are bigger things in life to worry about, Lauren.”

“You don’t trust him. If you did you wouldn’t worry about this stuff.”

I don’t trust him. He could be doing anything. With anyone. And why wouldn’t he be? How would I know? I can accuse and accuse until I’m blue in the face. Or until I push him away.

I could choose to trust him. I could sink slowly down into the water, let go of the struggle, and allow the ocean to swallow me up. I could lose myself in this.

And that’s just it.

I could lose myself.