Would it be enough to rock on a stormless sea with each our separate memories tuned to the state of the sinking sun?
He was back in the water, not braving but frowning, synchronised swimming, not swimming but sinking, toward the godsquid he knew was there, tentacular fleshscape and the moon-sized eye that he never saw but knew, as if the core of the fucking planet was not searing metal but mollusc, as if what we fall toward when we fall, what the apple was heading for when Newton’s head got in the way, was kraken.
Instead of the weight that sinks us, consequences are often the life preserver that saves us.
Your dreams are your solid rock; all other dreams are sinking sands! Recreate Your World and I believe you can!
Trust, is the stone thrown into the sea, sinking deep in all its murkiness, unable to see what it once lived and believed to be a promise.