I've often wondered if I've done things right. If I should have made this choice instead of that. Where I would be now if I made that choice. Would there be a 'now'? I'm afraid of the world. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of living. I'm afraid of going through life without having lived.
I inhale. The air is salty and fresh, and the waves below crash against the rocks with formidable force.
I inhale deeper. There's a storm on the horizon, and I'm suddenly terrified. And exhilarated.
I swallow my scream and jump into the crashing waves below.
The rushing nothingness that fills my ears is pure bliss, and I'm weightless. It's beautiful, and I'm at peace for the first time since he left. I can breathe for the first time since he left. I'm free.
I hit the water feet first, and I immediately realize how foolish I've been. I feel the sensation of a thousand cold, steely knives all over, and my body immediately tenses. I fight for the surface and break free.
Then the next wave hits. And the next. And the next. I can't breathe. I'm fighting and fighting, but to no avail. And the next. I can't break free. And the next.
I start to sink. I'm fighting, but I'm not strong enough.
This living, this living, this living was never a hobby of mine.