Ancient waters flow freely, under a glass ceiling. So thick barely any light escapes. It moves beneath your feet, independent from everything thing else, a constant migration. Independent from you, from your thoughts, and feelings. It does not care, it does not stop, it does not feel. It just does things. One of the biggest excavations of human kind is trying to find why it does. But there be no reason. There be no need for a reason. How uncomfortable does that make you? What’s the reason for it making you uncomfortable? I don’t know. Still it moves beneath the surface, care free. How nice would that be? With life still teaming from its smallest particle, building and decaying and building and decaying. Constant swirls of impact and energy, and yet it does it without any effort. No straining, no sore muscles, or light headedness, or blood, sweat, or tears. Just what it is, for no reason at all. The same reason why everyone’s so damn cold all the time. The same reason why the wind bellows on the windows. Why Ralph snores in his sleep then wakes up mumbling. Why Sidney finds herself alone, wanting more, wanting something different and new. Though we think of ourselves as different, deep down we’re all the same. As in the building blocks, the foundation. Every little finger or piece of bone is the same as the water running underneath, for all the same reasons. As it’s even the same as a wish or a dream. A far off idea that you don’t even know where it came from. Did it come from somewhere? Why? For no reason at all.