It's been years since I let myself go into the depths. The lake welcomed me like an old friend and laid me to rest on its silky bottom—no light, no sound, quiet all around. I was content with this, the bottom felt right, and I knew I was not alone. There were many with me in that place, many men and women like me who had enough and wanted just to let things follow their course. None of us reached out to one another, and we made sure not to drift close enough to try. So I was complacent and let the years pass like letters on the wind.

  I woke up in pain. Something gnawed at my insides, it was unquenchable, and it grew more restless with each passing day. Every time it hit, I would open my eyes for a moment and realize something before the void swallowed whatever it was back into the depths. It started slow; I tried reaching out to others besides me thinking they must have felt it, but none of them acknowledged my presence. Finally, I just let go again, but I knew it would return—that unapologetic sensation.

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  I woke up to the sound of drums, rhythmic and merciless, as I felt time slip away from me. It was my beating heart signaling the end of my life and how I had let it slip through my fingers with a pen filled with unspoken words. Looking around the familiar embrace of the void, I could see my colleagues here felt the urge but lacked the will. What awoke me from my coma was my humanity asking me 'Is this what you want from life?'. So I clenched my fingers around that pen and started writing while climbing back to the surface, along the way, thanking the deep for the rest it gave me. It was time for me to go and find the life I wanted.