I came every day, sitting for hours in front of the blank glass walls in front of me. I hugged my knees on the painful seat of the metal benches. People never took the time to really sit and watch the sea life. They were always rushing to see the next exhibit. I reigned the benches. They were my ticket to understanding.

It pained me to see the dolphins. Trapped behind sheets of glass and metal, forever going in perpetual circles. Always circles.

An old man sat next to me, he reeked of old cologne that plagued my senses with the aroma of cedar chips and beer battered shrimp.

“I was a dolphin once,” he said, his gaze never leaving the the graceful flows of motion in front of us. I watched his face, a crumpled paper bag of skin. He looked at me, distantly.

“It was the only time I ever felt free.” He stood up and left me on the bench, the dolphins still making their ongoing patterns that shimmered in the reflections of my eyes.

I wondered what I used to be. If life really was full of circles.