Open Water

by Caleb Azumah Nelson

Love made you Black, as in, you were most coloured when in her presence.

There should be no shame in not knowing what one wants.

How does one shake off desire? To give it a voice is to sow a seed, knowing that somehow, someway, it will grow. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding.

What is better than believing you are heading towards love?

Perhaps it was because you had both lost that year, and though you kept telling yourself you couldn’t lose any more, it continued to happen.

‘You can’t live in a vacuum. And when you let people in and you make yourself vulnerable, they’re able to have an effect on you.

She wasn’t heavy but there was a weight to her which didn’t match the lean figure you studied in your kitchen. Which is to say there was more life in your hands than you expected.

You have been going and going and going and now you have decided to slow down, to a halt, and confess. You are scared. You have been fearful of this spillage. You have been worried of being torn. You have been worried that you would not repair, would not emerge intact.

Have you ever been afraid of what lies within you, what you’re capable of ?

We find ourselves unseen. We find ourselves unheard. We find ourselves mislabelled.

You realize there is a reason clichés exist, and you would happily have your breath taken away, three seconds at a time, maybe more, by this woman.

You’re not a prophet but you should trust yourself more often.

How wonderful are moments like these, where you don’t have to hide? How wonderful to realize, amidst thrum of a bass drum, that sometimes it is a joy to be alive?

being asked to live so constrained is a death of sorts – so you don’t blame him for the anger, but why did his anger have to find a home in another

if freedom is something one could always feel. Or if you are destined to feel it in small moments here and there.

You know that to love is both to swim and to drown.

You think you are alone in this until you realize, she is with you too. You want to believe that her comfort can alleviate the situation but only if you allow yourself to be held.

No one has bars harder than your mum as she prays for you every day that this will not be the day.

You’re trying to play the same song you played together but two has become one. You and she were forever improvising, but two has become one, and without her there’s nowhere for you to twist and turn. The music has stopped.

You gaze in the mirror and you see that you are not a coward but you have done a cowardly thing and that you’re not malicious but you have hurt her and you’re not an embarrassment but you are ashamed.

You want to tell her there are some things you won’t heal from, and there is no shame in your hurt. You want to tell her that in trying to be honest here, you dug until shovel met bone, and you kept going. You want to tell her it hurt. You want to tell her that you have stopped trying to forget that feeling, that anger, that ugly, and instead have accepted it as part of you, along with your joy, your beauty, your light.