Four men in a ten-foot dinghy, the shore only watching. Crane hands each of them the same useless consolation and takes it back in the same order. What stays with me is the correspondent's late thought: this is the one thing he could never say to a person on land, and if he drowns, no one will ever know he saw it.

It isn't a story about surviving. It's about being seen by the sea and not by a single human, and choosing to row anyway. I keep it because it refuses to be about me.

If you've read it, tell me which line got you.