2nd person, again

You were encapsulated in a sphere of water the size of the Earth (or maybe the Moon because it's difficult to measure on instinct) swimming wherever. It was lit blue through and through, there was no edge or end to it. You didn't think to drink or open your mouth or breathe because home is all you know. Home is all anyone ever knows, don't feel too badly about it please. Resilience is better than breath control.

When you woke up you were under a rocky outcropping and a scorpion was scurrying away guiltily. You wanted to console the poor beast but it didn't understand English. You would have named it Armando if you weren't so depressed about it.

You were stranded in the middle of the desert, looking for the occasional scrub or blade of grass that could indicate the transition to a steppe or a more moist environ. However, the mountain range to the west caused the desert to persist in its dryness. You knew this was the nature of things and you looked out to the landscape like a goddamned idiot as you walked.

There was no treasure when you came. No x-marks-the-spot. There was only the promise of treasure which you did not invest yourself in. The journey, not the destination. Your adages comfort you as you go for the sake of having gone. Not for the sake of going. There is a difference.

There was no oasis, you started with a canteen for four days and ran out on day six. The camel did not die, it just played possum until you decided to leave it alone and continue on foot alone. You wish the camel would have liked you better. You would have named it Armando if you weren't so depressed about it.
Your goals were always uncertain. The landscape was always barren and dry. Symmetry.

In a flash, the clouds gathered and dumped a quantity of rain on the vast featurelessness of the desert. Little green stems poked up from the sand. Each untwisted a blue or white flower, which turned itself away from the harsh sun. Soon, a field of flowers was rocking gently in the breeze. A lungfish flopped in the water.

When you woke up from this second dream, the sand fort you made for yourself had blown away. So you got up and walked in the direction you thought you were supposed to. After a while you stopped and, noticing the swirl of the dunes in the wind, realized that the desert was featureless and ever changing in its featurelessness. The sand at the top of the dune was blowing away in a golden, horizontal plume. You saw the grains travevling away from you and thought to go open your mouth and catch them all in it, swallowing enough to make your own dune. For us. You would have named them armando if you weren't so depressed about it.

I went away too. I don't know if you lived or died.