These are the dreams we dream. The shallow sleep, our knees hardly get wet. You could imagine how we tried to drown ourselves, the way the fish just stare up at you through lidless, uncaring eyes. Because fish don't need to sleep. They don't need to dream, not the way we do. But I guess eyes shut tight aren't necessary for stars and pillowy landings, not when I just want to stare up into the ceiling and the microscopic holes in the plaster until I can see into the sky. Up into clouds. Just like the fish. Lidless. Closed implications and something that smells of cinnamon and mint. Berries. I can taste it on my lips and it fills my senses and I hope that eyelashes never relate to staples because I'd never know it was you.

They don't need to dream, not the way we do. There's a reason we close our eyes when we kiss. Dreams for later, for shallow sleep, when the fish are staring up at us, through lidless eyes. And they would be right to envy us.