Pacific, Atlantic, Indian, Artic

I imagined your death this morning, and it isn't that I meant to imagine a thing like that; but, I could hear your roommate answering the phone. I could see myself picking through, sorting emotions. Pairing them up. Seeing how it made me feel to see two emotions tied together.

It was because of the dream I had about you last night. It was so foggy, everything misty, like you could see yourself push through the air. It was almost like a real memory of you. I could remember details, but couldn't remember what we had actually said to each other. You asked me to sit in your lap, an intimate gesture, a trust. I held your head in my hands and looked at you. I followed you when you asked. It seemed so real, because I know I am very capable of following you.

After I woke up, I walked into the kitchen and cried. Mostly, because I missed you, and your death was just too much, and I couldn't handle your mortality.

Handling my own mortality is easy. Or at least I can say it is. I thought about my plans for the beach, and hoped the sun could dry me, get rid of the water weight

But, as I floated in the ocean I couldn't help but think of you snorkeling in your Atlantic. Probably so much different than mine. I could see you there, below the water, solitary and observant. It made sense for you to like something like that.

I didn't want to cry, not there, so I swam really fast until I couldn't keep my breath. How loud living can be. We are made mostly of air and water. I thought, we are the ocean. Expansive, salty, prone to unpredictable undertow.

I called you on my way to work. To make sure. You answered and I felt charged by your voice, the pensive "hello", even though you knew it was me, there, on the other line, a really really long way away.