I have witnessed Grandfather cry, and I implore myself to say that I desire to never witness him cry again. If this signifies that I must do things for him so that he will not cry, then I will do those things. If this signifies that I must not look when he cries, then I will not look.
The bruises go away, and so does how you hate, and so does the feeling that everything you receive from life is something you have earned.
Did she always have something to read in front of her so she wouldn't have to look at anything else?
I realized that your mother couldn't see the emptiness, she couldn't see anything...All of the words I'd written to her over all of those years, had I never said anything to hear at all?
It was terrible. All of the things we couldn't share. The room was filled with conversations we weren't having.
The paper, the stapler, the staples, the tape. It makes me sick. Physical things. Forty years of loving someone becomes staples and tape.
AND IF WE ARE TO STRIVE FOR A BETTER FUTURE, MUSTN'T WE BE FAMILIAR AND RECONCILED WITH OUR PAST?
It is not a thing that you can imagine. It only is. After that, there can be no imagining.
Try to live so that you can always tell the truth.
I try not to remember the life that I didn't want to lose but lost and have to remember
My dream went all the way back to the beginning. The rain rose into the clouds, and the animals descended the ramp.
We talked about nothing in particular, but it felt like we were talking about the most important things...
He couldn't bear to live, but he couldn't bear to die. He couldn't bear the thought of he making love to someone else, but neither could he bear the absence of the thought. And as for the note, he couldn't bear to keep it, but he couldn't bear to destroy it either.
Please be truthful, but also please be benevolent, please.
And also, there are so many times when you need to make a quick escape, but humans don't have their own wings, or not yet, anyway, so what about a birdseed shirt?
I have so much to say to you. I want to begin at the beginning, because that is what you deserve. I want to tell you everything, without leaving out a single detail. But where is the beginning? And what is everything?
I wish my days could be washed away like the chalk lines of my days.
So many people enter and leave your life! Hundreds of thousands of people! You have to keep the door open so they can come in! But it also means you have to let them go!
Your dad didn't die, so I won't be able to explain it to you.
I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.
The end of the world has come often, and continues to come.
Do you have any coffee?'...'It stunts my growth, and I'm afraid of death.
It was the first time I had ever made love. I wondered if he knew that. It felt like crying. I wondered, Why does anyone ever make love?
The secret was a hole in the middle of me that every happy thing fell into.
And so it was when anyone tried to speak: their minds would become tangled in remembrance. Words became floods of thought with no beginning or end, and would drown the speaker before he could reach the life raft of the point he was trying to make. It was impossible to remember what one meant, what, after all of the words, was intended.
It stayed with him, like a part of him, like a birthmark, like a limb, it was on him, in him, him, his hymn: I had to do it for myself.
Was his death an essential stage in the continuation of his life?
I could tell that Mom was dreaming, but I didn't want to know what she was dreaming about, because I had enough of my own nightmares, and if she had been dreaming something happy, I would have been angry at her for dreaming something happy.
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