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Moody Morning in Montana by Justin Kauffmann

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It’s like swimming in the ocean; there’s so much clarity from the water, and allowing yourself to submerge yourself only gives more perspective once you arise. You realise that there’s nothing there except you, and whatever happens to you is a direct cause of what you’re capable of. The problem is, sometimes there’s a wave, that when it hits, doesn’t let you come up for air. It makes you tumble, and suffocate, if only for a short while. But it hits hard. And in that moment, when you can’t breathe, and you don’t know which way is up, you’re scared, because not moments ago you knew where you were. Now you’re not sure how to get back. Waves roll over, they always do. Once you emerge from the wave you can see again. Like you always could, like nothing ever changed. The feeling of floating on top of everything gives you the sense that everything was always okay. But waves always come. They come soon. And they come late. But they come. Sometimes they’re small, barely engulfing you. Sometimes you can’t see them ending. They roll over you, drowning you. So much so that you forget how to breathe. That’s when everything stops. At least until the wave follows through. It’s like swimming in the ocean. For the most part, it’s easy to view everything in front. But waves always come. Swimming is easy, holding your breath is the hard part.

M.D.H.T