For many days, I have wanted to cry but would only do so occasionally. Some days, I would feel as if I was floundering on shallow waters, unable to breathe. On other days, it was sleep paralysis at waking hours. No matter how much I wanted to move my limbs, my body simply could not. I would feel as if the earth was weighing down on me, relieving me of any possibility of stirring.
To sugarcoat, I had a much foreseen fit about a month ago or so. The aftershock wasn’t any better. After days of opening up to other people, I’ve distanced myself more and more from them. I was, still am, yet again caged in a harrowing display of distrust and hollowness. I had coped with purposeful solitude and horrid self-deprecating humour. I would talk about something else.
I’ve taken a liking on an unlikely stranger, someone that have not even been near the offshore. But I’m afraid I fancy such a stranger for fraudulent reasons. If there had been any other, then the situation would have been synonymous to the aforementioned. You see, it’s a tactical diversion of my mind; hiding behind dishonest romance and illicit affairs to shadow the painful truth that I am ever so empty. And I have only the sea to calm me.