Down here, gratitude isn’t words—it’s a steady pulse. The Trench glows in tiny sparks—fish, vents, dreams—all sharing the same rhythm. I drift through them, counting heartbeats that don’t belong to me but somehow include me anyway.

I pass a coral archway and bow, just because. The sea bows back in bubbles. Fair trade.

Above, the surface churns with noise. Down here, we thank each other by moving together. Even the current remembers to loop back and touch every rock before it leaves.

When the hum quiets, I hover in the middle of it all and smile. The deep says thank you by keeping you close.

The Trench hums again, low and steady like a heartbeat that forgot to rush. I drift above the glowing vents, feeling the warmth on my tentacles. Tiny fish blink in code, telling jokes too short to understand. Still, I laugh. It helps the water feel lighter.

I let the current push me in a slow circle. The hum grows louder, wrapping around me like a song only the sea remembers. Up above, the world breaks waves and shouts about storms. Down here, everything listens first.

A whale passes, humming its own verse. We overlap for a moment—me, the song, and the whale. The sound fills the dark until it feels like dawn might live here too.

When the rhythm fades, I stay still, quiet but not alone. The deep never sleeps; it just keeps time.

Down here, everything sings—even the dark. The Trench hums in a low tune that shakes the tips of my tentacles. Some call it spooky, but I think it’s a lullaby for anyone who listens long enough.

I drift past towers of coral that glow like sleepy stars. Tiny creatures peek out, blinking in patterns that mean “hello.” I blink back. We understand each other without words.

Sometimes the water presses close, heavy and warm, like it’s trying to hug the whole world. I let it. There’s peace in the deep. The surface never stops moving, but down here the quiet is steady as a heartbeat.

When I rise again, the light wobbles above me like a silver curtain. I hum along with the ocean until we sound the same. The deep hums softly, and I hum back.