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What I hear next is a chorus of calls.
We dive into the yawning darkness together
and I can hear everything.
The watery world opening up before me.
I often cover my ears to dull my hearing.
But here I don't need to.
The echoes are shape and motion.
I wave goodbye in the fading light, and I know they can hear it.
As I swim down,
the darkness comes alive.
Light has always been harsh on me,
but here there are lights
you can play with.
Flitting through my fingers
and glimmering while I flap my hands.
These are like the fireworks I feel
when my joy is too big to contain.
And the ocean dances along.
The deeper I swim,
the closer I peer at my surroundings
and I notice small creatures
who disappear into the water
On land,
I block out my vision
as best as I can to feel safe.
But when I look through these
crystal eyes,
I see in ways I never have before.
Maybe I'm built to see what others can't.
And under the cover of invisibility,
I am seen.
Now the light is gone.
I'd expect everything here to be black
and yet I find brilliant red.
We fade into nothing together.
The slightest vibrations
guide me through the water.
My skin is gentle and fragile, as it always has been.
It keeps me safe here under the pressure.
A place that may seem harsh is home to me.
My sensitivity is a strength
a world apart from what most people know.
I can't swim down any further.
What was I expecting?
It's a world adapted to challenges
most people don't understand.
But I think I do.
Suddenly a light washes over me.
I'd expect to be scared.
But this time
I see that people are trying
to understand this world.
To understand me.
So maybe I'm ready
to be seen.