Water everywhere, around you, caressing your hair, pushing in on both sides, holding you captive with its force. Muffled sounds reach down to you from up above, on the surface where air and light...and pain abound. And you take comfort in your water solace, wanting to block out everything else--embracing the silence.
When I was little, I wished very badly that our whole room would flood with clear, crystal water and I could just swim around in it without any restriction. Even now, I think that it would be totally awesome. And down there, out of the reach of sights, sounds, and hurt, I would wrap the heavy water around me like a mantel and forget about everything. Swimming is like a therapy for me--diving down clear to the bottom, then sitting there for as long as I can hold my breath and just revel in the feeling of being rocked back and forth by the liquid cloak enveloping me.
Out of the way. Free from everything up on the surface--responsibility, expectations. Lying there forever, and ever. Escaping reality.
But if you stay down too long, the water will engulf you and become your watery grave. You will drown. And I can't help but think, that this is an illustration of life. You can't escape things forever. You have to learn to face them sooner or later. But if you wait too long, everything will suffocate you.
And you pull your fingers through the water, kick with your feet, your lungs bursting, and break the surface. Breath in the cool, sweet air--hear the sights and sounds assault your senses once again as you leave behind your place of solace and step into the real world.
Ultimately facing yourself.