drinking water could cure heavy feelings

It's not so much a question of if I could survive out at sea, exploring some of the great unknowns. Watching the boats teeter from side to side, anchored to the splitting wood under my feet. The water nourishes life as long as it keeps moving. Even if I lose my balance and fall above the algae, I believe the shore would cradle me gently. The allure of what lies beyond or beneath the teetering boats disrupts the tranquil moment.

It hurts to feel like such an act is impossible. To even think of speaking on it, my mind grabs hold of my tongue so tightly, words seem impossible.. Settling for memories over a physical connection; the warm embrace of hug.

Surely it's easier to shed a tear for each day that has passed them by, than to fully realize their absence. To lay your head gently in the lap of someone who understands, a comforting simple gesture.

Taking the defensive always feels like the easier route. In a strong display of a still exterior covering for an immensely frantic interior. The water did not ever seem to move, though the waves still found a way to crash against each other. Waves of anxiety and fear continuously collide, constantly disrupting the perfectly flat sea.

Every so often the stars peek from behind the clouds. In the same usual spots that they are always, shining just as brightly as it did many years before.

I feel as though I'm held together by something other than glue. Maybe I've been stitched at the seams, tied with a knot, or clipped together with an alligator clip right at the roots. A jaw that clings with determination but struggles to keep its grip. Enough strength to hold me together, but never quite enough to keep me there. If I fall apart at the seams again and the alligator clip doesn't hold me tightly, what could I use as a substitute for glue?

I've been entirely all too stressed, where my days pass me faster than minutes on my watch. Uneasiness manifests into body aches, and an usual itchiness flows through the surface of my skin. Anxiety and fear feast on this stress, watching my thoughts jumble and lose their structure.

Despite having no physical form, does it affect my heart in the most uncomfortable of ways? It couldn't be as solid as wood, though it's capable of rotting it to the core.

I think about our time out on the lake, where murky waters rippled against the aged oak wood panels. The rusty nails crept out of the seams with every gentle push from our paddles.

Yet still, we ventured out, far from the shore to the middle of this body of water. To a point where we no longer needed to paddle or make a sound. Instead, we watched as the water crept in from a hole in our boat, waiting to see what would happen in the end.

I couldn't remember the day that I wished to be saved. From my past transgressions and the weight of my sins engulfing my skin making my hair stand on its ends. As this path to forgiveness is the only way into the city.

Though "I don't know, brothers and sisters. But this one doesn't look clean to me..."

so worried about people who worried about me but worried about my worrying.

In the summer of '19, she said people like me were black beans. That little can on the mid shelf of the market. Blue label with a seemingly infinite shelf life. I would say that I was shocked, though I don't feel like lying. Black beans lingered in my mind, sparking introspection and creative exploration. Within the evocative scene depicted at a dining table, the exclusive presence of black beans serves as a powerful metaphor, symbolizing themes of identity, societal perceptions, and the persistence of subtle biases."

Her tenderness towards broken branches has never been a sign weakness, but a manifestation of her strength and resolve. At some point she saw into my soul, an act of connecting so deeply; it's incomparable to how vast the ocean is. Siempe me ha parecido que el amor existe de muchas formas.