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A review by sarahglen
Open Water by Caleb Azumah Nelson
5.0
STUNNING. Read it!
"Besides, sometimes, to resolve desire, it's better to let the thing bloom. To feel this thing, to let it catch you unaware, to hold onto the ache. What is better than believing you are heading towards love?"
"Tonight is different, but the same. Under what conditions does the uncontainable stay contained? Things unsaid don't often remain so. They take shape and form in ways one doesn't expect, manifesting in touches, glances, gazes, sighs. All you have wanted to do was hold each other in the darkness. Now, you have opened the box and left it unguarded in the night. You have both placed faith in the other that you will keep it intact. You have acted on a feeling. You are in a memory of the present. You are tumbling through a fever dream, surfacing only to plunge once more."
"To give desire a voice is to give it a body through which to breathe and live. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding."
"It’s summer now, and you're craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance.
You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It's summer now, and you're looking forward to worrying less. You're looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You're looking forward
no gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You're looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you,
which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last.
You're looking forward."
"You decide freedom might be a narrative. Freedom might be in the place beyond the fence. Freedom might be inviting others over the boundary. You take photos of the dog pounding around and think of sending them to her, but it's far too late for that. It occurs to you this freedom might be temporary, but you're here, in this world."
"Besides, sometimes, to resolve desire, it's better to let the thing bloom. To feel this thing, to let it catch you unaware, to hold onto the ache. What is better than believing you are heading towards love?"
"Tonight is different, but the same. Under what conditions does the uncontainable stay contained? Things unsaid don't often remain so. They take shape and form in ways one doesn't expect, manifesting in touches, glances, gazes, sighs. All you have wanted to do was hold each other in the darkness. Now, you have opened the box and left it unguarded in the night. You have both placed faith in the other that you will keep it intact. You have acted on a feeling. You are in a memory of the present. You are tumbling through a fever dream, surfacing only to plunge once more."
"To give desire a voice is to give it a body through which to breathe and live. It is to admit and submit to something which is on the outer limits of your understanding."
"It’s summer now, and you're craving a simpler existence. You want to read. You want to write. You want to meet strangers for dinner, and not refuse another drink at another bar. You want to dance.
You want to find yourself in a basement, neck loose, bobbing your head as a group of musicians play, not because they should, but because they must. It's summer now, and you're looking forward to worrying less. You're looking forward to longer nights and shorter days. You're looking forward
no gathering in back gardens and watching meat sputter on an open barbecue. You're looking forward to laughing so hard your chest hurts and you feel light-headed. You're looking forward to the safety in pleasure. You're looking forward to forgetting, albeit briefly, the existential dread which plagues you,
which tightens your chest, which pains your left side. You're looking forward to forgetting that, leaving the house, you might not return intact. You're looking forward to freedom, even if it is short, even if it might not last.
You're looking forward."
"You decide freedom might be a narrative. Freedom might be in the place beyond the fence. Freedom might be inviting others over the boundary. You take photos of the dog pounding around and think of sending them to her, but it's far too late for that. It occurs to you this freedom might be temporary, but you're here, in this world."