I fell once, in a meadow of tall flowers.
And it was funny because as much as we would think about drowning, we would always keep swimming, and always drinking, and sometimes listening. And, I guess, the thought comforted us – like all thoughts did – but never the reality.
For, we were kids, and what did we know about realities. All we knew about were those photo plankton that would sometimes glow in the late dark’s darkness like stars peppering the night sky. And they were beautiful sometimes, really they were. Sometimes, I think, it was all really beautiful. But some times never last long enough and eventually you’re caught again swimming in shackles against a cold current with a shore that is always too close. Or in a sandstorm, or in a hotel room at 2:00am in the morning.
And wherever you are, you still don’t understand anything about drowning or ideas or realities. And you don’t understand how you got here, in this hotel suite, and you don’t understand anything about undertows or heart murmurs or shackles or photo-plankton.
But sometimes you remember other things that are no longer with you, and you remember a time when it was all quite alright – even if it never existed.