You are both learning, so so fast, that the space between these spaces is very, very thin. Too thin for your corporeal forms.

No matter. The only way is forward.

Process is grabbing at his own arms, panicking as he watches his seams come undone. “What the hell is going on?” You can hear the distress in his voice. Your heart hurts for him, you want to stop it all to comfort him. I feel bad for him too.

Don’t actually worry about him. He’ll be fine. He’s squishy. It’s you we should be concerned about. You’re not squishy, you’re hard and brittle. You’ll shatter into infinitesimal pieces and get all up in his lungs. They’ll make commercials about you.

But I’m in control of this situation and I know it’s going to be fine.

“I don’t know,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Where I am.” Where I am.”

But I know what you’re doing. What I’m doing. So stop worrying about it.