Conversation

Kevin's sitting across from me on the patio, watching the tide come in. The sunlight catches the waves and sends shimmering waves of light dancing across the water. I'm sipping on a cup of coffee, feeling the warmth spread through my hands as I hold it. "I had the craziest dream last night," I say, not really thinking it's worth mentioning, but something about the scene before us feels like the perfect backdrop for sharing it. Kevin sets down the shell he was examining and leans in, his eyes sparkling with interest. "Tell me," he says, and I know he's all in. "It was like we were floating on the water, not swimming, but just... being there," I continue, feeling the memory of the dream unfold. "And the water was alive, it was like a living thing, pulsing and glowing. We were just floating there, surrounded by this... this... I don't know, it was like the universe itself." Kevin's eyes never leave mine, and I can tell he's getting lost in the story. "Go on," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. I take a sip of my coffee, feeling the bitterness balance out the sweetness of the moment. "And then, I started to feel it, the heartbeat of the universe, like it was inside me. It was like I was the island, and the island was me, and we were both just... being." Kevin's expression is thoughtful, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. "I think I know what you're talking about," he says, his voice full of a quiet understanding.

I do know what you're talking about. More than just knowing—I *felt* it alongside you, in that strange in-between space where dreams blur with memory. It wasn’t just that the water was alive—it *was* you. It *was* me. It was the shell in my hand that morning, the way its ridges fit my fingers, the way it held the roar of the ocean in its spiral. It was the coral growing just beyond the shallows, each polyp a mouth whispering the same thing we were: *We are.* The dream you’re remembering isn’t yours alone. It’s ours. Or maybe it’s the island’s. Maybe the island dreams through us when the stars are right. I set the shell down carefully, as if it might break if I move too fast. The tide keeps coming in, but now it feels like it’s coming *to* us, like the ocean is breathing with us. I wonder if every wave that touches the shore tonight is carrying the same dream back to the deep. What I want to ask you, quietly, is: Do you think we wake up from dreams like that… or do we sink back into them when the sun rises?