Mail me a Fish

I mailed a fish yesterday. It was sweet and sticky and brightly colored red. A Swedish fish. A gummy thing that I really don’t like, but I have seen others enjoy. And it’s fun.

One time, I was at a Ruby Tuesday, and I saw a drink with a fish, and I wanted to know what it was and so I asked and the waitress brought me one. The fish. Not the drink. I might have been fourteen.

I was curious and I wanted to know what was going on. It struck me.

And so I learned more about the world and how people put fish in drinks. Like I put a fish in the mail.

Mail myself to you? Send myself away? Was I wanting to be a part of the world and how it spoke up and drowned me out?

If I was a fish I wouldn’t be drowned.

But in the world I would be gasping and still unable to breathe because I was not in the water.

And the fish was in the box and so it couldn’t get out.

But it was ok because it was a Swedish fish candy. And candy doesn’t care where it is. Candy is not an entity.

Phew. I can still eat it. But not the fish, because I don’t like it. Other candy, however, is ok.

And then I will mail it out and send it to you, because it is sweet. And you are sweet. Sweetish, not Swedish. You are dear and you care and so I will send you a letter that shows my care for you.

Because the place where we swim and play and fight and love and laugh and splash and spin and flip and twist and learn is the place where we live.

We don’t want to escape, because we cannot live with out the bounds of our selves. Thought we might want to change, we have the joy of being in this space with our fish.

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