I wanted to be aware but not according to the breaking news. I wanted to be in the water, the water being the hands that can cover your whole skin at once. I ended up laughing and holding a long stick – a wide stream – wondering how wonderful it might be for someone else to stand on the outside of us and then to look at me. He stood there in the shirt I had gotten used to wearing when I used windex on the sink. I used every scrap of paper I could to wipe it clean, and then I wrote down several numbers on my hand. He demanded that I touch his face. It was a sinking boat, I was watching it as I watched my hand, or was I watching my face, I mean his face, and why was I not bored. Later in the week it will be very different, there will be less said because there will be more specific things to say. I will think about my longing to go fishing once more, go swimming I mean, with someone else, the other one, the one that I will be with forever in one way or another, the one that is the definition of not having anything else. I was swimming in my skin until I was sure that my own liquid was inside out. Sure the bad eyes and the headache were my fault, unlike the vessel and the necessity of containment. Someone would have wanted to know that we were having the feeling of weightlessness, and that we couldn’t escape it, because you can’t run when you’re submerged. There is no traction, and also there is no pushing back. I knew for I had tried for days and days.