I know that I’m holding myself back. I know that something needs to change, and that I need to be the one to change it. And I know – I know – that if you’re patient with me, what I find on the other end of it, once the towers have burned down, will be you.
We are all on our way to the same party even if it’s taking place in hundreds of different bars and living rooms. We are going out to celebrate ourselves and one another. To fall in love or to remind ourselves of all the people we’ve loved in the past.
Things don’t seem to get to her. She’s kind of... straightforward, I guess. But in the best way. In a way that’s really smart and kind.
William Morris. He said that everything you own should be either useful or beautiful.
It’s an ache. A heavy sadness. The kind that is brought on by heartbreak and then perpetuated by everything that reminds you of the way it’s broken.
She sounds so tired. Tired of me and the way I’m not talking.
We take a last look out of the window at the night, and I send a silent wish to everyone out there for this kind of warmth.
Maybe the story came from some part of me that wished I knew more, or at least had actual memories instead of feelings that may have only been inventions.
I’m thinking about how Ingrid always made huge elaborate plans for everything. One of them involved getting rich somehow and buying the theater and fixing it up and reopening it to show indie films. Instead of sofa, we’d sell tea at the concession stand, and we might even have some photographs or books for sale. It would be more than a theater. It would be a place to escape to when people felt stifled by the chain stores and lonely in their massive houses.
I mean, you see a million terrible things every day, on the news and in the paper, and in real life. I’m not saying it’s stupid to feel sad, just that it would be impossible to let everything get to you and still get some sleep at night.
I’m awake and alert, numb and exhausted. I never knew I could be all these things at the same time.
In the circle of the human we are weary with striving, and are without rest.
If only lonely were a more accurate word. It should sound much less pretty.
Remembering the departed is the only way to heal.
Sister. I’m sure that painful things have happened to you. Ever marrying Jesus can’t entirely shield you from the realities of life” -Gramps.
The morning fog spreads from tree to tree like a blanket of regret.
We were beach creatures. We had treasures in our pockets and each other on our skin.
We were masters of collusion, Gramps and I. In that, at least, we were together.
Descubro que sou uma pequena parte de um mundo milagroso.
Before the water reaches a boil, he will be here. I dropped the pasta in and set the timer. Before the ten minutes are up. I melted some butter. I wasn’t hungry, but I would eat it anyway, and by the time I was done, he would walk through the door and call out my name. The.