The tireless feeling drowns me, but not enough to suffocate me, just enough so that I choke on the water I inhale when I come up for air. It is beginning to feel as if struggling to reach the surface is not a sign of strength but of suffering. A suffering that has been welcomed by a tired soul. A soul that finds comfort in the pain of their own unhappiness. The lifesaver lay willingly beside me, but my feet continue to kick in agony. Why?

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