In Physics I learn about hydrostatic pressure, a pressure that an object gets for being in a certain liquid and at a certain depth. It is equivalent with the density of the liquid, the gravity, and the height of the fluid above the object.
I am the object and you are the liquid; the fate somehow threw me into you. I nudged your surface and you let me come in, swimming through your mysterious fluid. I tend to go deeper and deeper, eager to explore every single side of you. Unfair, I think, that you can shroud the whole me while I am merely touching a little part of you.
But as the physics law about hydrostatic pressure states, the deeper an object goes into the liquid, the greater pressure the object gets. I can sense your pressure against me when I try to swim deeper into you; rejecting me to go further into your life. You tend to keep your walls around you, restraining me from seeing your true self: your soul. A soul that I am sure is utterly beautiful, no matter how damaged you think you are.
This hydrostatic pressure is blocking me from your depth. It suppresses me from every direction, preventing me to find out more about you. Every single part of me is trying to fight it, but sadly, your upward force is much stronger. You push me away from your life; from the depth that I was in to the surface where I am totally just another stranger to you.
Now I am floating in you, not sure if I should try harder to dip into you or just waiting for a miracle to get me taken away. The only thing that I can wish is you aren't able to dissolve any solutes. Because if you are, your density will be increased and so will your pressure against me.
(and so will the distance between me and you).
