i’m writing about water because i miss the rain

everyday is a glimpse of vanishing
possibilities, a furious river that destroys
the ground under my feet.
i am drifting and running beneath
these ocean waves, a heavy flux of
immensity that overcomes all details.
the little movements of leaves falling,
the lives of insects and peoples’ glances.
it’s harder and harder to breathe under water.
situations seam to repet themselves,
like not knowing which names to call for.
i dont even know what words can do
for me anymore, as they turn empty
with the washing of nature’s soil.
it’s becoming impossible to believe
in anything, even though my hands
can’t give up on conjuring their forces.
i fought my way here.
resilience is not a choice.
the only thing that i know,
when my veins seam to be the only
confirmation of being alive, is that
death doesn’t want me yet.
not yet, for i am still to be here,
nowhere, or wherever the sky wishes
upon me.