In the morning I woke up. Nothing in particular had done the job of hauling me out of sleepy puffs as it was almost a routine, a melancholy boredom of the repetitive 24 hours cycle. I opened my eyes and lied still in bed. A thick, heavy blanket for wintertime tuck under chin on the first day of August. Felt like my body was buried in so many layers of airbags I didn’t feel the weight anymore.
I made believe I were a jelly-fish, floating carefree on the surface of the infinite ultramarine. Above me was nothing but a vast room of cerulean crystal. And the sun was shining bright. The wind was blowing cool streams of breezes across the ocean. Gentle waves tapped on each other like some greeting rituals, carrying me away. No more struggling, no more suffering, no more torturing.
All I was left with was you.
But even the images and illusions became blurred with time, vacating themselves into the air with every breath I took. The very sound of your name, the sensual feel of your touch, the addictive warmth of your body, those little sparks in your eyes. They all, once blocking up my lungs, were much lighter now that finally I could breathe. I tried getting hold of them but they effortlessly skidded through the slippery opaque tentacles. Strangely it made me both relieved and nostalgic at the same time, for they had also fled with a loving, endeared part of me into the deep, deep blue.