I open memory to gut it. My dad empties out to a red sea. I can’t swim. He never taught me. The tide flows to the shore and I am saved. I now see my father floating submerged face down. He bloats purple. I think he’s dead. The waves beat furiously against his body. I suppose his eyes fleck nightmares. He always threw my seashells into the sea. Because of him I am a small creature caught fully in time’s trap.
I open memory to clean it. My mom empties out to a blue sea. I can swim because she taught me. The tide flows and I swim to shore safely. I now see my mother floating freely face up. She floats so white. I know she lives. The waves flow so fluidly around her body. I know her eyes flecked my big dreams. She let me sell my seashells on the seashore. Because of her I am a big creature freed fully from time’s trap.