What is deep in the ocean, that fishermen beg to find? I’d say, a clam, clams which shut so coldly and feel rough on the skin. This is me. Clams are treasures which hold themselves in high regard — they care not of their grim appearance and smell of kelp. I have never seen a clam, but I know I’ve felt it. Like a secret bond, I feel it.

Breathe, says the clam. Breathe and do not feel or smell but remember. For we are treasures, like the serenity of a crisp moonlit night, with a peace and knowledge of an angel itself. Clams breathe, and do not mind their place in a world of predator and prey.

Whereas, my scent and feelings, my very breathing is powered by the intrusive thoughts which every human experiences once in a while. I say why is this, and the clam says breathe. I feel the sadness of an empty void and the clam says breathe. I look inside my heart for the treasure that my mother has promised is there all my life, and the clam only says “breathe.”

Now, replaced by the breathing, was silence.
And in this silence I realized where I was.
My heart wept in the abyss of a blackened sea.

I breathed with the clam,
I rose, almost floated.
I was. It was.

I breathed to see the surface once again.
A glimpse of my treasure.