Aqua(velva)phobia and how you dream in supply and demand

i dreamed this once. i remember it now. we spent five days on the southern tip, dipping ourselves now and again into the drink. sunlight met the shore, met the air, met the pore. in and then back and then in again. managing not the time of day but the time it'd take to ruin it. either me or her. i would bet her, secretly in my head, on the outcome. because even though there were no winners in the end of it all i still wanted to feel like maybe it were me. i almost died there. in the drink. the bubbles. the glassy abyss. swimming out to meet the falling waters. only made it half way. i think now that it felt like what being apart of the mob must feel like, only when you've screwed the mob and they encase your feet in cement and tell you your "swimmin' with the fishes tonight, saul." only my name's not saul. and i know nothing about the mob. but i know something of almost dying. of drowning. of struggling to breath. air: never a more precious commodity so terrifyingly scarce. sweating under water. yeah, it's possible. but i couldn't tell you how it ended. last thing i thought about was the bet. and then the dream ended.