resilience is one thing, but recovering is another. bottling everything up is chivalrous. heroic, even. it makes you hurt nobody other than yourself. but sometimes the water in the dam gets too high up you find yourself drowning. you flail your arms around, thrash your legs—your own version of swimming. but just the same you tire out. and you discover that floating on the surface is better. kinder. less exhausting. 

you float. aimlessly. never really realizing the fact that the water underneath you still continues to build up and someday, you might topple off the edge.

but even better. you discover a crack. slowly, you’re losing control. you can’t help it. you drown. you gasp for air. tiny bubbles escape your mouth instead of words. 

you open the gates—or try to. closed on and submerged for years; it had rust.

you realize your time is slowly slipping from your grasp. one tiny bubble after another, your life flash before your eyes. 

death. it sounds like oxygen to your hypoxiated life.

you end your struggles. you sink.

the crack. you remember the crack. 

and with the last of your efforts, you find your way towards it. a little more push is what it needs and it would give away.

it does. 

blocks upon blocks of brick tumble their way down.

air.

air surges in and you almost choke on it. it takes a long time before your hacking stops and ultimately, you feel better.

and amidst the debris you find yourself bruised and scarred from the chaos.

nevertheless, you breathe normally again.