I feel as if I'm standing on the boardwalk, breathing in the air around me and loving the friendliness of it, while everyone around me thinks the air is water, so they try to swim.  It's a funny sight in a sad way and makes me want to weep as I laugh at the ridiculousness of it.  "You can stand, you can walk, you can breathe."  But they don't hear me.  They can't hear me because their experiences are full of muffled sounds created by the dense water they call "atmosphere".  It is only when I take hold of one's hand and speak and move freely with them that they understand their world isn't what it seemed.  When I let go, they often retreat somewhat to what they knew, but not entirely.  They now know they can come out of the water.  They act as if the air is cold.  They stay in the shallow water, crouching in it to keep the sensation and temperature the same.