Just yesterday, I sat in this chair thinking the waves were soft, thinking I had time admiring how they carried my thoughts out of reach, how they let me pretend none of this was real. I told myself: if I’m still enough, maybe nothing will break. If I wait long enough, maybe they’ll see I stayed. Maybe that’s enough to matter. But people move. The waves, too, seem to have washed away every soft part of me turned my good into something twisted, misunderstood. Maybe Ursula’s under the sea again, plotting with the voice I gave her in exchange for a love that never showed up. And somehow, I’m the villain for staying quiet while the water rose. I should’ve learned to swim before I gave away my voice. Before I let silence become proof that I was fine. Now it’s too late. Now I don’t know what hurts more the drowning, or knowing I chose the chair.![[IMG_0584 2.jpg]]