Prose and poetry,  Sadness


Photo by Mourad Saadi on Unsplash

Grief comes in waves.

As the ocean waters can be smooth as glass before the tempest’s arrival, I am composed before the downward spiral of my unraveling.

Calm before the storm finds me in peace, or in a state resembling it. This quiet deceives me so well, soothes my troubled soul into a lull of false security, and I begin to believe that the worst is over—until I recall your voice calling my name, a Siren’s death song to which I am drawn.

Thrown overboard into the raging waters, I clutch for a buoy to which I could cling. My lungs fill with saltwater, suffocating me until the edges of my consciousness blur with panic and loss of air—

but I never am truly drowned. Thrashing to keep from going under, I take in wet, sharp gasps of breath. The waters are calming yet I remain submerged, frozen in terror, awaiting the next wave.

Ela is a twentysomething who is constantly getting stuck in self-destructive behavior and bouts of low self-esteem. She struggles with depression and writes to relieve herself of her feelings. Sometimes she even blogs about other things like makeup and positivity. One of her pieces was published in the Inquirer Young Blood in October 2017. She likes cats, dogs, and sometimes even people.

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