Я ищу.
Screw that, my diary, I can use it for whatever I want.
The water keeps rising. At first it was low, on the floor, behind the ceiling, running on the walls. Pools on the floor, or deep, but far below, removed.
Now I feel like it is rising up, splashing around my knees. Small wooden bench in the kitchen is bouncing on the surface.
It is pushing behind a tall wall, holding it like a damb. I am so tempted to just let it all flow...
Interesting thing is, it is not a new theme. Once I felt, walking on the streets, that I was deep below water - that its surface was at the level of the roofes of the surrounding buildings. Like I was at the bottom, in the sunken city. After coming back from Montenegro I felt like I was walking on the seafront. Like roads were rivers, sidewalks were embankments... Like I finally rose up, climbed up somewhere. Now I feel like I am descending again. Or not. More like... shifting. Like I am at the same level, but the water is somehow rising, not directly, not linearly, but... it just "becomes here".
The water keeps rising. At first it was low, on the floor, behind the ceiling, running on the walls. Pools on the floor, or deep, but far below, removed.
Now I feel like it is rising up, splashing around my knees. Small wooden bench in the kitchen is bouncing on the surface.
It is pushing behind a tall wall, holding it like a damb. I am so tempted to just let it all flow...
Interesting thing is, it is not a new theme. Once I felt, walking on the streets, that I was deep below water - that its surface was at the level of the roofes of the surrounding buildings. Like I was at the bottom, in the sunken city. After coming back from Montenegro I felt like I was walking on the seafront. Like roads were rivers, sidewalks were embankments... Like I finally rose up, climbed up somewhere. Now I feel like I am descending again. Or not. More like... shifting. Like I am at the same level, but the water is somehow rising, not directly, not linearly, but... it just "becomes here".