I’ve never been happy

I can’t shake the feeling that I’ll never be happy. This intuition, this irrational understanding that I will always be drowning. That regardless of how hard I swim, how much breath I have, or how steady the current, I will never reach the oceans surface. I know that the air is beautiful. Others have said so, they’ve spoken to me of the wonderful, artistic splendor that lurks just centimeters above the waters murky surface.

But it’s dark down here. It’s dark and its cold and my legs are freezing over.

The sunlight penetrates the sea some days, but only enough to illuminate the barrier between us. Never enough to actually diminish the obstruction and warm the water up. Most days it’s pitch black. Most days it’s ice cold down here. And the longer I spend at the bottom, the farther away the surface seems. And the harder it gets to kick. The lack of motivation, the increasing sense of apathy. I’m past the point of running out of breath.

These lungs have been empty for years. I’ve forgotten the taste of air, and can only remember the effects of the sensation it provokes.

I just want some sunshine, and maybe some fresh air if the universe is feeling exceptionally generous.

I’m envious of the fluttering legs miles above my head.