On old memories, and missing those I shouldn’t.
I've possessed an odd fixation on the water and the creatures that live in it as of late, no doubt spurned on by the rainfall. There's a recurring image in my dreams, of me walking into a glass tunnel alone, fish swimming around and above me. It's dizzying to look up, and impossible to tell how far beyond the glass the water reaches, but beautiful nonetheless. The dream goes on like this for an indeterminate stretch of time, walking with no exit in sight, with nothing happening.
A shark enters my peripheral, paying me no mind as it swims slowly past me, disappearing on the same aimless journey as I. And then the dream ends.
For all my eloquence, it's impossible to describe the heavy feeling I got upon seeing the creature, as if my lungs were suddenly filled with lead and I was faced with the realization of how out of place I was. It was as if by merely existing, the creature reminded me of how little I meant in comparison to the rest of existence.
As I write this, I'm begining to realize that it is not a dream I visit in my sleep, but rather a memory. I remember bringing Maiko to the aquarium when she was little- and how she refused to move on until we had named every single jellyfish in the exhibit. She said they needed names, or else they wouldn't be able to tell each other apart and fall into a hivemind, where they would then into one giant jellyfish to take over humanity. I asked her how she knew this, and she said the revolution was already happening with the anchovies, but they're so stupid, they haven't chosent a leader so they keep following each other in a circle, so we're safe until election day. Her logic was sound, so we spent an hour naming them all to protect the human race, and to commemorate our victory I bought her a little pink jellyfish which she promptly name Jamerson.
...She told me last time I saw her that she still had him, even after all these years.
I wonder if theres an aquarium nearby, maybe I'll pay it a visit.
