And he swam through the blue daytime ocean and the navy storming ocean, the cold black ocean under a moon or a half moon or no moon at all, and each night of his swimming a different moon was there, and the moon’s slow wink was all for him, for his solitude, for his dedication, for his perseverance, for his tiny little self that kept going on across the constant plane of water, water, water and no one who loved him and nothing he knew and no others to swim with at all. I wonder if he ever came to depend on the great nothing he’d found out there, to spend time with it like it was his only friend, his whole community, the lover he loved the most. I wonder if the nothing became something to him; I wonder if that happened because it had to, because otherwise he’d collapse under the weight of his isolation.
excerpted from (Unsent Unwritten letter to Husband) by Catherine Lacey on elimae.
This story is incredible. Seriously. Wow. Can someone please submit something this good to Hot Metal Bridge now, please?