It is quiet here.

Quiet but for the whalesong and distant crashing of waves miles above me.

Except for bubbles of air that fight the intense pressure to return to the surface.

It is dark here.

Dark but for the bioluminescent creatures of the deep that scuttle and hunt and float.

So dark that the sun shies away from us: it is darker than ink.

It is cold here.

Cold yet encapsulating and reassuring in a way that resembles a mermaid’s embrace.

I feel supported and restrained in the most beautiful way, and I do not miss the shore.

I cannot smell or taste here.

Although, I can feel the salt on my tongue and smell the ocean breeze.

Although, those things are so far above me that they have replaced the heavens.

The atmosphere is safe here.

Safer than the dry land could ever hope to be and safer than my thoughts.

This is my safe space: the quiet, empty, dark depths of the ocean floor.