Aquarium Echoes
Crabs, Stars… existential crisis
Seattle light drizzled against the glass as we drifted through the aquarium, Thursday rippling like water around us… tanks glowed blue and emerald, a hermit crab in a mottled shell peeked out with lacquered claws, a coral-pink starfish balanced upside-down as if practicing a slow-motion cartwheel… laughter and camera flashes floated past, yet time felt hushed, suspended between the bubbles.
Inside that hush a different current tugged… why does every creature cling so hard to stay, to pulse, to wriggle forward, to keep the lights on… what hidden oath binds gills, hearts, and neurons alike… the question pulsed louder than the schoolkids nearby, louder than the tidal soundtrack overhead.
I pressed my hand to the glass, saw my reflection fade into the shifting sand… the crab simply tested the water with its antennae, the starfish flexed a thousand invisible feet, neither explaining nor apologizing… beauty was just them, existing, ornate and ordinary at once… and I felt gratitude bloom, small but steady, for the simple privilege of noticing.
Perhaps hope is this: the quiet glow that remains when we stop demanding reasons and start witnessing the soft, stubborn miracle of being alive.
Disclosure… this story was proofed and structured with help from ChatGPT, while Sora cleaned up my blurry, pixelated phone photos.