this time

this time, i don't save myself from drowning. i jump headfirst into the ocean instead, and the waters are as blue as in the painting you hung in your living room. this time, there won't be any gritted teeth or clenched fists - i'm not reaching for that knife again, i left it on the kitchen counter - i'm not murdering the words this time, i promise. because this time, you look at me like you've dreamed about kissing me, too. and i don't save myself from drowning, it's happening right now, it's happening slowly - and you don't blink and your eyes are as green as a pine forest in june. this time, my lungs fill with water, my lungs fill with fire, my lungs fill with you, and you don't throw me a lifeline this time, because we both know that this time, there won't be a next time.