Thought.is

How do you know my brain and my shaken hands and my bones and muscles and my loose skin and I don’t even know my conscious, but you do.

I swim, but I do not see. The water is thick with turbidity: fibers of fish scales, the forgotten breath of deforested sea weed. A snorkel leads from my puckered lips and broaches the thin surface above me. The snorkel is my division, because I am not as decisive as I might hope. I cannot fully detach myself from one world for another.