Today has an underwater quality. Like sitting on the bottom of the pool, cross-legged, watching the prisms of light bounce around, anchored by inertia and the bubbles cascading out of your lungs that kept you stationary, pinned in this world. The burn behind my eyes reminds me of those summers, too. The delicious thought of climbing into cool sheets and drifting off, hair dampening the pillow, while you followed your thoughts down loopy rabbit trails that ended in complete surrender to sweet, black stillness. Even though today dawned bright and cold, that trick of March, yanking your senses back and forth, teasing Spring out and banishing it again, my body feels that warm, sleepy pull of summer. The days where nothing gets done except living. Days when you belong only to yourself.