Open Water

by Caleb Azumah Nelson

To be you is to apologize and often that apology comes in the form of suppression.

You know that to love is both to swim and to drown. You know to love is to be a whole, partial, a joint, a fracture, a heart, a bone. It is to bleed and heal. It is to be in the world, honest. It is to place someone next to your beating heart, in the absolute darkness of your inner, and trust they will hold you close. To love is to trust, to trust is to have faith. How else are you meant to love?

Whenever she asks if you are OK, you nod, mute, convincing her, trying to convince yourself. Then she asks you, are you sure? To be you is to apologize and often that apology comes in the form of suppression and that suppression is indiscriminate. Except here you must unfold your arms and from your chest say, you are tired. That you have had enough. That you want to – There are not words for what you want to do. You begin to choke and gulp for air as tears stream down your cheeks. Moan, low and stifled. You must explain. You must be heard. 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. You do not need to apologize here. When she asks, are you OK, do not fear the truth. Besides, she knows before you speak. There’s no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith. Suck at the snake’s bite, spit out the venom at your feet. Gaze at the fading scar but do not dwell. Do not hide but do not dwell. There’s no solace in the shade. Let yourself be heard and hear her words. Have faith.