Me: I’ve been drawing you all year.

Eel: I know.

Me: Your eyes grow ten times bigger when you reach the sea.

Eel: The dark demands it.

Me: Grief feels like that, like I have no control over the changes my body demands of me.

Eel: Water does not ask either.

Me: I can still feel the old self, a lining that hasn’t fully detached. I want to let go but it clings.

Eel: Transformation is cellular.

Me: How do you keep adapting?

Eel: I listen.

 

Me: I think something in me died.

Eel: Yes.

Me: I keep looping through the same thoughts, getting stuck in the same stories.

Eel: Let the current carry you.

Me: I’ve been trying to understand this huge grief.

Eel: What is there to understand?

Me: I feel formless, like jelly. What if I never become solid again?

Eel: I lived a long time without bones.

Me: But I want my clarity back, my joy.

Eel: Some things dissolve before they return.