I cracked my skull attempting to dive into his dreams.
Went snorkeling in the shallow end of his greatest ambitions. A lone vacuum was stuck to the side of his mind, dutifully sucking the suburban walls clean.
I once believed there was an ocean in everyone, but some people are simple swimming pools three feet deep. Man-made vessels of water with no deep end. The surface sparkles and glitters, exposing all of its blue tile teeth. Nothing to hide, or give. What more is there?
He navigates the opposing currents in my mind. You can’t see what the sea is thinking, too many waves to get a clear view of the bottom. Can’t jump in there either, he warns. Too dangerous. Prone to drowning.
I don’t tell him what I know. That drowning doesn’t take an ocean; only an unquenched thirst and a sink half-full of hope, broken into.
Come back to the pool. Swim with me. Dream big dreams of hundreds of laps. Make your own waves.
I glide backwards, eyes on the milky sky above. It looks big enough to wade in. I wonder if it’s deep enough for diving. Salt water fades from memory. The smell of chlorine lingers on my skin for days.
