Aquarium

Life is an aquarium. All this shit floating around outside of you, that you can look at, heck, marvel at — but never touch. And if you did manage to reach up on your tippy toes and dip your forearm into the tank — you might encounter a beautiful stingray — and get stung. Fingers throbbing red, poison shooting through your arm up to your elbow.

Life is an aquarium — as a kid you would stare intently at the new shiny creatures in awe. As an adult, you bumble along, hungover after your college friend’s wedding at a winery in Carmel. Still single.

Life is an aquarium — sometimes the water builds and builds around you — reaching a point where the heaviness — can’t be contained, and the glass starts to warp, bend, croon under the pressure — and then you write. 
 
 Life is an aquarium.