no ideas, but in things

clear blue sky light fading into orange sunset. silky black purring kitten, resting in front of a purple wall with pink curtains around an empty window, a window you can't see out of, a window that won't open. green smudges, blue smudges, grey smudges and the faint sound of rain beyond thick walls tells us it is cold and wet. warm cotton sheets though, pink and blue. once in a warmer room, a brighter green and gold and sometimes black room, more cramped from low sloped ceilings, narrow spaces, a once attic now bedroom, so close to the roof you can climb out and worry about falling - no, jumping - off.

a bigger castle, purple on the inside. pink like frosting on a cake, dark and full of thick air. the rooms next door are explosions, the outside is like the ocean, gravity pushing it into the space, like clay in a mold, like toothpaste coming out, like birth.

i am colder than she was when she slogged across that empty meadow turned marsh thick with moss and mud and heavy with water from the ever present misty drizzle. it is somehow always dark here. but not some sad dark, just the dark of night, the dark of the sun coming up in a few hours, the dark of sleep and baths and the full moon.

i'm not leaving here, i'm swimming forever, i won't drown, i can breath underwater and i can speak with the fishes about their castles of kelp where secrets are bubbles trapped in the tangle. we swam down, to the bottom, to the silty mud of the sea floor. we camped out and pretended we had a plastic castle to sleep under but we didn't because this is the real ocean, not a tank.

it got cold. it got dark. it got lonely when the fish all left for somewhere else and we missed our chance and didn't follow. but it didn't matter. we were still, so still we caused no eddies or swirls of sand, so still the water didn't know what to do and melted, wrapping us like plastic wrap, packaging us away for storage, for sale, for giving away.