I wish I could do so much more for you. As it is, I am stretched so hard that when you let go of me, I don’t spring fast and swift back into shape. There’s so many of them, but unfortunately I don’t happen to be one of those cheap rubber bands that always manage to retain their elasticity. I remain flat and shallow, this long thin body flagging. Like a deflated balloon. Or a toy doll. The one the kid is terribly bored of and so to further amuse himself, he pulls her apart. Arm, arm, leg, leg, and then the head pops off as surprisingly as the cock of a champagne bottle. And you look at the head; you put it in between your thumb and finger and you notice, hell, it’s still smiling. Big bright and stupid smile. Way to go.

I want to save you from drowning, but the harder I try, the more desperate you become to pull me down with you. Entangled limbs thrashing wildly about, fingers wrapped tight around nothing. You can’t remember if the struggle is for death or for life. Can’t breathe. We’re half in the water and half out. Hot heavy breaths smeared with sharp gasps and regretful sighs. All I can see when I fall asleep are two open mouths earnestly swallowing the last liquid glow of the sun.

I’m afraid. But there’s always something that drives me forward, that keeps me moving on and on and on. I can do this. I can keep trudging uphill. But I’m so so tired too. I want to take these dancing high heels off, no matter how beautiful and how red they are. I want to hide somewhere, somewhere warm, somewhere that isn’t too condemnable and bright or depressingly dark, where I can curl up into a little ball and make myself whole again.