NEW WRITING:

It was like he was at the bottom of the ocean - sometimes. He would sit, and he would stare, and he would see nothing, nothing but a thick gloopy movement of water - just like an ocean depth, or so he thought. He would sit on the edge of the bed, putting on socks that didn't match. He would swear, sometimes cry, then realise - fuck it - who cares - who's going to see anyway? Who's going to see through these miles and miles of shifting ocean, through these miles and miles of turbulent sea? Who cares to make that journey towards me? Who cares to make that effort?