The Breath Of The Water

She drowns peacefully, in my dream, while I watch, standing over her with my shoulders above the surface. I beg her to come up to where I am, I motion to her, I even try pulling her. But there she remains, her hair floating weightlessly around her. She doesn't believe in the water. She doesn't believe that what we feel will hurt her. She doesn't understand that she can't stay where she is, that it's dangerous, that she should trust me. Maybe she's right; I've earned no such privilege. There is nothing for her to drown in except for the water line that I drew above her head. Still, she sits, unbreathing and content, and still, I stand, the opposite. This is the difference in living.