Object Writing. Anchors 2.8

We do these writing exercises when we meet every other Saturday. This week we wrote on anchors. This may be me, or it may not be. That is what is so wonderful about writing. You never know the context fully, but you can place yourself in the image and find your own understanding. 

Deep waters run further down than my imagination can muster. I sat on the bottom of that floor once, the waters rushing round my head, spinning, and swaying as I tried to keep myself upright. I had no problem staying in place, I was tethered to that anchor you had given me long ago.

We always talked about getting them, you and I. You were the anchor to my life. You kept me afloat. We wanted them together. We wanted it painted, and scarred onto our skin.

And then all it really did was bring me down. You no longer kept me floating, you brought me down. You kept me in one spot. The heavy metal sank, down deep, dragging me further and further into the darkened sea of life, and love. And then you left the anchor there, sitting on the floor, blackened and bitter towards any and all help to cut me free.

We wanted them together, ya know. We wanted to be tied to each other for life. You asked me that day and I said yes, in the happiest of ways. We drew it in permanent marker on our fingers, tying us together, never floating apart.

You brought me with you, keeping me at your side. Never away for long.

Had I really looked to see, it was always bringing me further, deeper;  always holding me back.

Your love was just too much to bear any more. And it wasn’t even mine, but I couldn’t really share.

Torn and tattered, I sat on that floor, it was filling with salted water. Pools and puddles piling higher and higher until my lungs filled, and my breath just wasn’t there.

Listing and fleeting, I couldn’t get out from under that metal, the tether it held on me kept me close, never more than a few feet. I wasn’t strong enough to pull the weight. I wasn’t strong enough to let it go. The rust gathered and it bronzed and created it’s own scars. The salt eroding curves and sharp edges.

You anchored my soul, and I don’t know if I will ever get out from under it.

I found a way around it though; I used it as a crutch for so long, until I used it for my own good. I learned from it. I used it as a weight of my own. I used it for strength, for understanding.

I carried it up and through the dark, through the waves and fighting sea.

A slip back into the depths was easy, but I got so much more from climbing through. I gained it all and got my life back.

 You don’t have that control over me anymore. You can’t keep me going. You can’t keep me by your side. I can go as far as I want now. Not just a few feet, but miles and miles. You’ll never find me. I have the anchor now. And it is mine to carry. It is mine to keep me going. It is mine to keep me strong.