Words in Deep Blue

by Cath Crowley

It’s a truth universally acknowledged, according to George, that shit days get shitter. Shit nights roll into shit mornings that roll into shit afternoons and back into shit, starless midnights. Shitness, my sister says, has a momentum that good luck just doesn’t have.

I think it was a sign. I think that we got so many signs and we ignored them because we didn’t believe in them then. I wonder if the future sends us hints to get us ready, so that the grief doesn’t kill us when it comes.

But he doesn’t understand that memory is abstract and chaotic. Memory isn’t straightforward. It surfaces in sounds and images and feelings. He doesn’t realize that in getting another person’s memory, he will lose parts of himself.

You say that the ocean is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, and the thing that terrifies you the most. This describes how it was for me to fall in love with Elena. Perhaps all things that are worthwhile are terrifying?