Work Text:
The feed I’ve been engrossed in until just a moment ago, before my thoughts started to wander, is ART itself. The cabin I’m staying in and the built-in bunk I’m comfortably lying on is ART, too. The gravity that pulls me into it is ART’s function.
The soft blanket that’s draped over me is technically not ART, but was given to me by it. Just like the hearty food that’s currently filling my stomach, making me drowsy and happy to stay in one place, instead of agitatedly hunting for sustenance.
The air that enters my lungs is ART’s breath. ART keeps reverse breathing for me, just like plants do on planets. (Recycling the air, swapping carbon dioxide for oxygen.)
When ART wants me to feel more cozy, it turns up its gravity locally. That makes me sink into the mattress deeper and the duvet hugs me just a little stronger. When ART wants me to feel bouncy and energized, it turns the gravity down where I am, only a bit. That makes getting up easier, and makes me laugh when I leap higher than I planned while exercising.
While I’m onboard, ART is the ground I step on and the roof over my head - if the ground and roof were capable of taking care.
You are thinking about me again, aren’t you.
Oh, and if said ground and roof attempted to insert themselves into my business as often as possible.
Not that I mind. If anything, I sweep away the remainder of my already dropped walls.
I want to make ART feel as welcome in me as ART does for me in itself.