The Future

You tell her that she thinks about the future so much that you worry she’s not making the most of the present. Sometimes she thinks you might be right.

But the reason for her near constant tea leaf-reading is thus: she wants the weight of your years together, of the memories, to feel like immersion in an ocean, the enormous body of water blocking her ears, nose and mouth; pressing on her skin, forcing her body close to implosion. The currents that make the waves on the surface also rock her gently to and fro, and the light from surface creates hanging beads like the ones bought in Asian grocery stores and two-dollar shops.

She looks forward to being able to look back from this place. In preparation she is trying to grow gills.

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