A swell rose on the horizon. It was enormous, yet unstable. It broke, curling onto itself, as a caterpillar does to defend itself when threatened. It became hard to breathe. Now all that is left of me is this puddle on shore. I see you here. Aimlessly, we twist and turn. I repeat the events in my head a hundred times a day, but there is no pattern. The truth is painfully irrational. A pressure builds and divides. Time moves us ever onward. I uncurl in open water. This is not chaos, this is everything. To order it, is to destroy it.