There is this lake that I know of. That we know of, actually. Sometimes I visit it alone, sometimes he visits it alone, but over the last few days I’ve accompanied him when he pays a visit. I take a lot of walks, but sometimes I stumble upon the lake when I least expect it. Not today, though. We come to the lake together and I beg him not to go too deep because the last time I did alone, I almost drowned. He barely registers my words as he dives in, still clothed. I don’t have time to strip or hesitate, so I dive into the water, too, and it’s damn cold but so is he, and I feel like today I might lose him forever. I told you I’d love you like I’m going to lose you, but today that’s what it is, that I still love you so ardently but you always want to find out what is at the bottom of the lake, even if it is at the cost of your life.
Honey, you swim so fast that I can barely keep up. My vision was blurry to begin with, but the gap between us widens and soon you are nothing but a blur in what seems to be a far off distance. I know you’re still going down to the bottom, but why? I came with you in the hopes of convincing you that you didn’t need to swim all the way down, that there is nothing down there except death and the bones of those who sought the bottom but received eternal sleep instead. You escape my vision and my swimming speed slows and slows until I feel like the water is overflowing my lungs and the bubbles are filling my sight instead. I grab at my throat begging for the air that will never come. I beg for us. I’m not ready to die. We still had so many days left together.
I don’t want my last memory to be of you abandoning me so you could wallow in your pit of sadness. I feel so helpless, knowing I can’t reach out to you and help you, because you refuse my help, because you don’t know how to fix it, but I’m trying, and you won’t let me.
Honey. You’re not the only one suffering in the lake. We’re both running out of oxygen.
Please. Let me help you.