SIX FEET DEEP OCEAN

By Avisha Bhawnani

July 12, 2020

Six feet deep ocean

The first feet: was the way I looked over at you, observed all your curves and perfections. The chaos of your mind, and the endless beauty of it. Your emotions, suppressed, and your love for seeing curves of joy on the faces of everybody else.

The second feet: was knowing, and believing. Seeing and grasping. Observing the minuscule details like the way your face hid the little places of defeat, or the beads of sweat on your forehead. Or finally, the sound of your beautiful laughter, when you're happy for real — busy being the person you really are, in those rare cherished moments.

The third feet: was putting my feet, subconsciously, unknowingly into your ocean. The beginning of the beginnings. Taking a sip of your gracious star dust— for the first time ever. And mind you, loving every bit of it.

The fourth feet: was drowning a little more, by your endless deep conversations, the beautiful mess of words in your mind, the beating of your little heart, that was as vulnerable as mine. My sea of thoughts—that was apparently all full of you. The changing of minuscule parts of my rigid behaviour. For instance, the way the very idea of you blew in new styles of writing. Or the way I would start believing in me, just a little bit more.
But
it came with taking a risk of drowning.

The fifth feet: was knowing, knowing ridiculously well that I was drowning. Sailing in mid deep waters, my body being my only ship. With shaking breaths of fearful unpredictability. Knowing just how vulnerable and defenceless I really was. How anything, everything—with just a blow, could destroy the fragile heart of the ocean, the place where I was. It was the risk of pain, danger, defeat, and endless misery and heartbreak.
Yet, for loves sake—I was drowning anyways.

The sixth feet: oh, the sixth feet! It was- having two parallel roads, painstakingly opposite.

Either, learning how to swim, to save myself, and breathing my way up to the brim, and getting rid of the dangers of near death and doom.

—This was not what I chose.

Or, just sailing through,

Furthermore, ocean deep, going where the waves would take me.

And drowning—more.