Those were the good days, the days when he did his job and went dancing after work, days when he enjoyed eating and slept well and sang in the shower. Days when flirting with a good-looking man was fun, even if it didn’t lead to sex, and he didn’t lose his temper with anyone unless they deserved it. Those were the days when he liked himself and liked his life, and some months there were more of them than others. The bad days were when the world wouldn’t stay out of his head, when everyone he looked at wore a swirling crown of color, and everything he touched carried the charge of someone else’s life. Those days were all about maintaining his increasingly precarious control, snarling and snapping to keep anyone from getting too close. Trying not to drown. Sometimes he succeeded; sometimes he didn’t. Today was a good day. He could almost pretend he wasn’t clairvoyant. His head was clear, and he felt light, balanced. He had not remembered his dreams when he woke up, and that was always a positive sign.
What do You think about Somewhere Beneath Those Waves?
