you close your eyes, and you let yourself sink lower, 

let the warm water lap at your skin 

and melt against your goose bumps, 

the stark contrast of the bitter cold above you 

and the warmth beneath you 

taking you by surprise.

the image suddenly shatters as you suddenly open your eyes, 

and you feel like you're dry again, 

bone and dust and wind, 

but you exhale 

and you let your fingers fall slowly from the lip of the tub, 

the porcelain a slip-slide of satin 

against the ridges of your skin.

your breathing slows, and you smile a little, 

think to yourself that this isn't uncomfortable, it's even ideal, 

and you wonder if the peace you have now will strengthen 

if you submerge yourself completely.

so you let your body sink further, let the caress of the water 

reach your neck, your jaw, your sealed lips, your hairline.

you are now completely blanketed, the water 

a vast ocean around you, and you're a little scared now, 

because you wonder about the creatures of the deep and the dark 

and what lies coiled in the shadows, 

of what lies in the things you have no knowledge of.

to calm down you try going completely still, 

and when you compare the nothing and the no one 

that waits for you outside 

to the galaxy of bubbles surrounding you, 

you calm down again 

and just let your mind go blank.

after a few seconds it all feels right again, 

as right as your wretched life could ever possibly get

and you continue in your reverie as if uninterrupted.

it's amazing and wonderful and it's like tasting freedom 

and the sweet pop of carelessness.

This is what you've been searching for must feel like.

This is what your solution must feel like.

This is what finally letting go must feel like.

so, inhaling the ocean, 

you do.