I breathe slowly and deeply, trying to use my diagraphm. I’m tense and it doesn’t work well. This atmosphere contains my sketching books, and those books are heavy with my soul.
I jump, and dive into another world. This new atmosphere is dense and it tries to push me back. I squirt out bubbles, sit down, and cross my legs. In my mind I’m an ocean away, sat in the small room where I learned to tolerate meditation.
The atmosphere asks me to fly. I kick, and it relents. My lungs start to ache; my mouth stays shut; my skin crinkles. This world isn’t meant for humans, but I have company here from my own world: leaves and drowned bees.
I want to stay down here. It has no memories to frighten me. This was always my safe place. The sketching books express my past and promise my future, but they will wait for me.
Awhile later my body insists. I fly up to the other world; the one where so much bad happened. But I have a different perspective now. I can always go back to the water world.
I can’t sleep.