Some say the worst way to die is drowning. With drowning, the pain is slow. As you languidly submerge, minuscule air bubbles disappear from your lungs. They feel like they’re deflating, but really they never will. Your lungs will fill with water; they’ll burn, they’ll sting, and you’ll want to fight for the surface. Any inch of air would be your savior, but you can’t reach the surface. Maybe at that point death seems like a little piece of serenity.
Others say heartache is an undeniable winner. To leave, to miss someone, to be deceived. Each one a little slit to the throat, not big enough to kill but strong enough to take hostage. Heartache is never being able to breathe again without the weighing water. Heartache is craving a little inch of happiness when really, that feeling is only temporary. Because when a person is gone, you’re already marked.