I touch a bubble, and with a grin, watch it burst.
Sitting on my usual spot, I listen to the waves
tasting the sea salt in the air.

The clouds grow dark and I swim.
Far away, with oceans bright and sunny,
with many people. They are happy

I watch them, observe them.
I am curious.
Can they see me?

The storm hits and I swim again.
A long distance.
So, so far away.

The new people aren't as sunny.
They're older and dramatic, obsessing over little boxes.
What are “teenagers”?

I blink as a hand suddenly invades my field of vision.
“The water is freezing. Need a hand?”
This new person asks.

I sigh mournfully and respond,
“I can't,” my view flickers to the water behind me
and my tail breaks the surface.

Silence.
It stares.
I stare back.

“Want to try?” the hand moves closer.
I hesitate—but only a moment. “Yes.”
I grasp the hand, and am easily pulled out of the water.

I stumble a little on my new fins.
I gasp, “What did you do? What are you? What are these?”
I point to my peach-toned fins.

“Nothing. Those are legs.”
I frown. “What do they do?”
“How do they work?” I feel curious.

“You walk on them,” It replies.
“Walk,” I state, face twisted in confusion.
“Yes, walk. Here, I'll show you.” It takes my hand again.

We walk.
“And as to who I am?” I nod, gaze flickering to it.
“I am a friend.”