I watch them as they float about. If I take a deeper breath, they move ever so slightly and as they do so, they take shapes. Of a bear. Of a skull. Of people talking. Of a horse's head. Of an eye. Of an old couple strolling.
They divide, they join together.
And of course, they are not really there. They are just a result of an intricate neural connection that happens somewhere in between my brain cells; happens at unimaginable speed, connects every single experience of my life, mixes it, blends it and spits it in the half-asleep form of a bubble world.
If I have never seen a bear, its image would never have imprinted on my memory and those brain cells would never have told my eyes to see that bear in a faint, white island of a bath cream.
Here's where I think this gets interesting. Our imagination is limited to the sum of all the experiences we have been through from the moment we were born to this very moment of lying in a fast cooling bath water playing a silly game of bath cream watching.
Maybe we can only see what our brain cells allow us to see...Maybe we can only do what we are able to imagine possible...