The moment of stress after thrusting ourselves out of the fishbowl
To grasp a breath of the air that is not absorbable in lungs made for water,
Caused my brain to swim with ideas of the not so pleasant kind.
It almost seemed like a sort of brain damage.
Too much air.
He rubs my shoulder, like he's trying to comfort me,
but I think that he's also comforting himself
As I slip into a world he can't express with words or actions,
That he doesn't need to express with words or actions,
But I do.
Suddenly, a jungle of tigers, with sharp claws tearing flesh
Snarling, causing a confusion whirl of realization and sorrow.
I hear him sniffle as he grasps my hands, enclosing them so as not to let the tiger take over.
The wildness dies down, the jungle relaxing back into the sea
