Even as a baby, I had tricks. I had tricks that took me out of the arms of others. I'd arch my back to escape an embrace. There was something about folding into another that made be uncomfortable. It still does.
I know this doesn't bode well for future relationships. I know hands should be held instead of made into shields. I know I have skills to learn before I can slide into society as a functioning member.
I know I am stumbling. I know I'd rather stumble than fall into a biography penned by a stranger.
I sink just enough to touch the bottom with my toes. Those depths make the oxygen above an obvious joke. Who could ever use up all of this air? It is abundant, it is enough. The heart is buoyant, the soul is not science.
Concrete sinks. Wine turns into water, which turns into ice. I touch the surface of you with my razor-sharp spine. You crack. Bone floats. I glide.