I threw my body in and swam, hour after hour, I swam for as long as it took, until I had a good thought, just one good thought. Some days, most days, it would take a long time, but finally it was as if I could see it coming across the surface of the water toward me, and as I pulled myself toward it, my body would slowly return—I could feel it again, my body, I could feel myself returning to it, and then, as that one good thought reached me, as I let it wash over me, my body would slowly dissolve.
The Ticking is the Bomb by Nick Flynn
There’s no point in me ever trying to properly explain why I swam for hours every morning in the pool at the Hyatt in the week my father had a stroke. Nick Flynn has done it for me. The last time I read this book was before. God how books morph in myriad ways. Reread, always reread.