“I like to float in the water.” Michael was a long-lost friend, quiet; it was like he knew more about me that I ever would. “I just lie back and drift, you know, my nose just above the surface and look up through the water. It’s more like meditation, I guess.”
“But I can never hold it. I feel too vulnerable, like something will come up under me and bite me in half. I always freaking myself out like that.”
There are so many notes, too many to write down, through the layers, each idea scribbled for the one above, seeking to understand the depths, or just trigger that moment of happiness and stay in that. 
There was a drunken child wanting to fight everyone, and I kept him in my room before going back up through the city, floating above the crowds, not floating as much as striding, walking in flight, thinking someone would be confounded, and yet none of that happened.
And then I was at the rink, tightening my skates for the game, as I took notes, hoping I was in the right layer to remember that I was playing for the Leafs again. 
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