Rebirth

Monday, I decided to drown myself.
After a long week of consultation with my mirror and the sleeping trees outside, 
a week of labour followed,
a week of heavy stones and deeper waters
pushing down the ugly,
the indiscernible fractions of the soul
coming up for air.

But what is a week of labour followed by a week of grief? 
They had drowned, the fractions, even the ones one 
could have shut tight in jars or glued into photo albums.
Preservation however, was the death of the soul,
the sleeping trees told me two weeks prior,
and so my grief died slow and quiet, 
to the grave my skin and nerves followed.

I learned another thing from the branches, 
which was that light cannot drown.
The mirror agreed with this, as by week four
it had found liking in what the wooden giants had to say. 
And indeed, there was a reason why they had been around for 
longer than most of what lives, and I saw this

When the cold light coming from the deep water illuminated my face 
like a thousand moons 
and helped me see the mountains and valleys in the distance for the first time since I had drowned something different a few weeks ago.
The trees laughed in unison as I walked along their avenue.
I needed a hand to hold. What a good thing I had two.
Lone, 20, Germany.