I lie in the water, as still as a bog oak, my skin broken and brown, under the weight of ages passed, part wooden, part stone, saturated and silence, unable to speak. I am held on the edge of abandon, caught between doubt and love, the tease of delight so strong I can almost taste it, but held like a carrot in front of a donkey, always marching, never eating.
Gorgeous wordplay, and such a beautifully melancholic feel to it.
I often wonder if it the human condition for people who have strong emotions if they donβt sink.
If we didnβt sink, we would never learn how to swim.
True! β¨
Always with the most sinisterly perfect twistsπbrilliant
I should send you the short story collection!
Yes, yes, YES!!!
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