Air

You run, lungs burning, desperate,
feet pounding against the earth
but I do not chase you.
I am beneath the waves,
where sound warps and light bends,
where the world is quieter,
where your voice cannot reach.

You gasp, air tearing from your lips,
your body shaking with exhaustion,
but I do not shudder.
The current holds me like a lover,
pulls me deeper,
wraps its fingers around my wrists,
pressing soft against my throat.

You are out of breath,
but I am beyond the need for breathing.
The ocean has me now,
its cold touch a lullaby,
its weight a whisper against my ribs.
You fight for every inhale,
I let go of mine.

You reach for me fingers trembling,
eyes wild with something I can’t name.
Desperation? Guilt?
But the water is stronger than your hands,
and I am too far gone to reach back.

So you stand at the shore,
panting, broken, still alive,
while I drift below,
silent, weightless,
a ghost before I’m even gone.