sinking.

slowly. not so slowly as to be preventable or controllable. just quick enough to assert the futility of resistance. it's more of an added weight; increased inertia. but sinking only earns its negative connotation if you're below sea level. otherwise it's just another mode of transport. not necessarily the most efficient perhaps, but the most solitary, yes?

getting home after a long day, longer than any day has a right to be, stripping myself of clothing and other gratuitous trappings, stumbling to that well worn chair that knows the slight curving and sloping of my body, the parts that never seem to relax, the things i can never let go, and i sink. sinking into that comfortable space that knows me so intimately, cradling my imperfections, somehow discovering those parts that have managed to be unsullied in my encounters with the world. sinking. and my jaw slowly starts to unclench for the first time, my fists unravel. and i'm laughing with my entire body at the absurdity of it all. i had thought that i needed to jump in order to get from there to here, but i've never liked heights. at the end of the day, all i want to do is sink. it's not glamorous, i suppose, this sinking thing, but it's hard to jump with this chip on my shoulder and baggage in hand. today, i don't need to jump. i just need to sink.