I define this as my own maelstrom. It is a clearly unseen, murdering, mess of hi’s and goodbye’s; the unconsciousness between dreams and memories; desires to run but not to leave yet ever come back; beautiful promises and betrayals. When possibilities fill up an unborn space of seconds after six hours earlier or six years later.

I’m strangled.

“‘Maelstrom! Maelstrom!’ s’écriait-il! Le Maelstrom! Un nom plus effrayant dans une situation plus effrayante pouvait-il retentir à notre oreille?”

—Jules Verne  (Vingt mille lieues sous les mers)