Words in Deep Blue

not that I think we’re great at love, but I think the whole world is fairly shit at it, so, statistically speaking, we’re average, and I can live with that.

Life’s pointless and everyone gets up anyway

wrote the text

Eventually, I crawl out of the self-help section and make my way towards the fiction couch

And then she leaves me here, lying on the floor of the self-help section – a dead man. One with a non-refundable, non-exchangeable ticket to the world.

Tonight, I see the words and phrases that Henry has underlined over the years. I see also that other people have done the same, marking their loved ideas. Back in Year 8 I didn’t notice those markings. I didn’t notice the title page, either, but tonight, I read the inscription:

Dear E, I have left this book in the library, because I cannot bear to keep it, and I cannot throw it away. F

I know without any real proof that E is dead. I know that some of the lines on the love song are hers. She has been on the same page as me, the same page as Henry, and she has loved the same words that we have loved.

So while I’m here in the present, I’m also there in the past? That makes NO sense, Pytheas. And if the past exists like a place does, why can’t I travel to it?

He liked science because of all the possibilities, but he believed in other things like time travel and the supernatural.

and I both loved storms. We loved the accumulation of charge in the air, electricity building in the clouds above and on the earth’s surface, moving towards each other.

‘The offer still stands,’ Rose says tonight. ‘Pick a place.’

I pick the past.