Status Updates From The Sea

At times the image of her would spring up in me unbidden, an interior succubus, and a surge of yearning would engorge the very root of my being.

When she was little and slept in this room, in this bed, she liked to hear the sound of the typewriter from the study downstairs. It was a comforting sound, she said, like listening to me think, although I do not know how the sound of me thinking could comfort anyone; quite the opposite, I should have said.

We walked out into the day as if we were stepping on to a new planet, one where no one lived but us.

Not too far in & so far I find his writing to be intriguing