Yesterday a man died. One of many.

He was swept off the rocks and died in the ocean. I wished I was him. Dying in the ocean would be like going home. The only part I didn’t like is that they found his body and tried to revive him. Interrupted his peaceful sinking and the nibbling of the fish. You can’t blame them. But it seems disrespectful.

He didn’t want to die. Well, there is no justice in the world, is there? If it could be arranged that death came for me, and I could spare you the pain of my choosing; well, that could work. Not exactly win-win, but it could work. Tell the angels: spare someone else; take me.

But wait: someone is slamming their fist on the table. “HOLD THAT TELEGRAM!!”.

You, my beautiful catcher, reminding me of your ferocity.

“Live. First because I want you to. Then because you want to. In that order.”

Psychic mirror neurons: you are there each week, so I am there each week; you don’t give up, so I don’t give up. My heartbeat slows to match yours, and the steady rhythm of your breathing becomes mine. And then your anger reminds me that I have fire in me too. Not only rain.

“Is there beauty in the world?
Is there love in your heart?”

Yes. And yes. And so?

“What other reason do you need?”


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