IF THIS WAS ANY OTHER DAY, ME AND MATT WOULD TURN AND WALK AWAY, BUT TODAY, WE'LL STAY - mary hamilton

Matt swims until he gets to where the water is black and the sky is black and the stars are little white dots above him, reflecting on the water around him. He is an astronaut. He is a fool. He knows he is surrounded by things of infinite size and weight. The whales, he knows there are whales out here. And sharks. And giant squids. And ugly fish with fangs. And broken ships and crashed airplanes and mountains. He knows there are mountains under water. And he knows he is so small now compared to all of this. He knows the odds are against him. He knows what it is to be insignificant, a body at the whim of nature. He knows now everything a man needs to know about love. He finds himself getting wrapped in a cloud of seaweed. A snarling mess of vines and leaves, twisting around him, squeezing him, holding him tight. Pulling him under. He could swim up, he could breathe again. But what is breath when he is being held so close without the threat of ever being let go?