The disillusionment was wearing off. He was reaching the bottom. I knew that my end was coming.

I was proud. I was satisfied with the stab of a million suns. The tear off was worth it. I was under another million water droplets, layers of fresh ocean slices. Another one, underneath another. I was underwater. I did not feel the need to breath. I felt good. Like it never had mattered, a sudden accomplice. I liked him. The wind was beckoning me. I could se the entire universe calling to me, like something of a better high was on its way to me.I looked up and saw the swishing wind, in the dying leaves. I traced a couple of slow ones, the leaves. They appeared to go into the unknown ,never to tread back. And, I felt the same rustling wind, underneath the water I was in. It was flowing above me and in me. I felt each droplet seeping through the pores, slowly. And slowly yet, creeping in. The wind in my ears, water in my veins. They absorbed the white scalpy dryness and fused into the rough terrain. I could feel the soggy blend plunging into my veins. I had a spasm. Deep, and rugged. It seemed as if the eternity would suffice itself for me to feel my life again. I was blending into the molecules. Creeping into their epidermis. Crawling far away from the light, from the flesh. Loosing what I always wanted to get away from. I always wanted myself to be compact. To fit in wherever I desire or please for. I wanted to be the omnipresent and the omnipotent. The maker and the destroyer. To play with the insanity. Including the faked ones too. I wanted vengeance. I was possessed. I could feel the sorcery in the water settling into my own sap, searing through my polysaccharide walls. I could feel the loss. Bit by bit, I was falling off. I was losing my sole viscosity. I was plain without my mode on. I was losing my sathu. In my mother tongue, when sathu is drained , a person is dead. The word sathu poyi originates from there, meaning dead and gone. The sap was far off. Dry and dead in the thin oblivion. The water was filtering the hypertonic hemoglobin out. I could feel the fatigue settling in, into each cubicle. One by one. Slowly and patiently, it descended down to sediment. Time was a disillusioned luxury. I wanted to start counting, till it all ended. Till the ultimate climax. I hoped to concentrate on something to hold on till I lost my composure. Even the prospect was etched in pure doubt. I knew I could not go on nagging myself to concentrate. I had lost it. The patient part. I had lost it. The happy part. I was drained. I was evil. I had lost it. Myself. I had lost the thinking element in me. I couldnt think. I could not imagine. I was blocked. A big giant block stood in the way. I was banned from life. I was stopped from reality. I was stumped and thumped on, again and again. And I was paralyzed. I wanted to burn to freedom. I wanted to be the ash, the flame and the water to soothe myself. I wanted to feel the pain and the relief. To feel the end and to free myself. To feel the chains and the freedom. Detached in the confined sky. Bound to the serenity beneath, I was in that phase. The intermediate phase between death and life. The struggle to attain the bliss of drowning to death. The bliss was ecstatic. It didnt sway or vary. It was still as the albatrosss curse. It was bright and still. I was no longer swimming. I felt embarrassed that I was hysterically thumping my invisible fins against the waves. Actually, the embarrassment was par relief to

be over with. It was no longer embarrassment. Just because it never felt like an entirely embarrassed flush over. It never reached the epitome. It never reached anywhere to register in my dendrites to settle as an embarrassed feeling. It just broke into the disconnected mysteries. Out in the black. Alone and detached . Blurred. Bright. Searing. Divine. And , black.