I am in my old backyard in Victoria. I am with a bunch of friends—some of them actual friends but most of them dream-friends. There is a hot tub type thing in the yard, above ground, unusually high & made of plastic. We’re all talking about how much we love each other, & how we hope to stay friends forever. There is a lot of love.

As the little party nears its end, it’s mutually decided that we should each take a turn getting into the hot tub. It’s sort of like a dare, but a ritual as well, treated with glee & reverence simultaneously. Each person gets in & out quickly, shaking & gasping to catch their breath as though the water were freezing cold, while the others cheer them on.

It’s my turn. I brace myself for the shock, but when I jump in the water it feels neither hot nor cold. It feels like nothing. So I decide to do a handstand in the water. Fully submerged & upside-down, I find the handstand incredibly easy. Then I realize that I can breathe under the water. I open my eyes & see the flashing daylight diffused through the plastic walls, shimmering green & blue in the waves. Through the water I can hear the muffled shouts & whoops coming from my friends, & my love for them becomes so huge that it hurts in my chest.