Drowning in the Warmth of a Frozen Sea

I am currently drowning in a room filled with airless water, yet I have never felt more alive. They told me that to survive here, I must learn to breathe the pressure instead of oxygen—a logical impossibility that has become my only reality.
The blue around me is freezing, an arctic weight against my skin, and yet it radiates a heat so intense it feels like his hands resting on my shoulders from three years ago. It is a thermal contradiction: I am burning in the ice. My lungs are heavy with memories rather than water; every inhale brings back the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and late-night coffee.
Healing, I’ve discovered, isn't about moving forward toward recovery. It is about sinking deeper into the moment where we were most broken until that fracture becomes the foundation of my new world.
I am a ghost in your ocean, seeking solace in a sanctuary that doesn't exist outside of this blue haze. If I stay here long enough, perhaps time will loop back to the day you first held me, and I will finally find home by getting lost forever.

Editor: Paradox