How they end

I woke up in the morning with my head full of thoughts. My fingers were counting the hours I had spent since I touched down: 48 hours. It feels like forever. The sense of hopelessness started to creep at the back of my head, I bolted upright and I threw my duvet off the bed. Instinctively, I searched for Devotchka's How It Ends on my iPod and I played it out loud.

What a way to kick off my morning with a remnant of the past.

I looked around me and I was stung with a devastation. The room is empty. The bed by the window is something I recognized from 10 years ago, the two cupboards sat side by side, and they were filled to the brink with clothes useless to me now, and the full-length mirror did nothing to reflect my diminishing optimism. I searched for my books - the wall of my being, the pillar of my strength - they are in boxes somewhere, still buried with my past. My suitcases sat limply at the corner of the room, next to my bursting parcel and my guitar.

Given the state of my room, people can only conclude whether I've just moved in or I'm ready to move out. Honestly speaking, I prefer the latter.

Splash, splash

I never knew I'd love water as much. But there I was, bobbing along the lazy and quiet waves like I am their long-time friend. The water was dark green, and it was warm around me. My feet dangled. From the surface, its jelly-like shape sways to the rhythm of water like the tentacles of an octopus. For a moment, I felt peace. I felt like I had nowhere to go and no task to accomplish.

Splash, splash. I swam to the left.

In my determination, I attempted five strokes. I was breathless at the end of it, but I was in ecstasy. No, I still couldn't swim. But the simple act of moving in the water fueled my energy and optimism. In the very second I plunge my head into the water, opened my eyes in it and took in the murky shade of green underneath me where I could see almost nothing - I know nothing could break me. I was safe.

Splash, splash. I swam to the right.

I leaned back, my head rested on the surface of the water like pillow. A vision grew in front of me; the sky was blue, fringed with trees so thick and green you would think there is nothing behind them. On top of the boat, a friend sat at the edge with his guitar. From my point of view, my insufficient sight gave him away as if he was floating. Another friend sat down below, closer to me. She was laughing at something. I laughed with her. In my heart I thought, "heaven".