I found a pool and fell in. The water surrounds me while the light reflects and refracts; this is harmonious distortion. Underwater, I’m learning how to swim. I have learned to love the water; swimming is no longer a chore. I am swimming past the memories that consumed me like the water, and the places where we slept.
The gods are not dead, but sleeping. The gods are not dead, but forgotten. The gods are breathing; I feel the life in the wind blowing through my window. And then, when I think of holding you here, I can’t think of a more intimate act than awakening the gods with my love.
When we sleep, there are no sirens, only gods. And when we sleep, your hands are two distinct halves of the only pair I want touching me.
You and I are two halves looking for each other in the dark, underwater.
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