“Pouring over me, but it was a different kind, siphoned from a different, and tamer, body of water. I was her darling daughter; Joseph was her it.”

But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.

I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.

If everything kept to its normal progression, we would live with the sadness-cry and then walk-but what really breaks us cleanest are the losses that happen out of order.

She is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope; make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.

That’s the thing with handmade items. They still have the person’s mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone.

The most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.

We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.

Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles.

I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.

It’s such a fraught and exciting and kind of horrible time.

Listen. Look. Desire is a house. Desire needs closed space. Desire runs out of doors or windows, or slats or pinpricks, it can’t fit under the sky, too large. Close the doors. Close the windows.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It’s nourishing; it’s rejuvenating.

You try, you seem totally nuts, you go underground.

When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.

I have had with novel writing, and I have put to bed big chunks of work that just didn’t sustain my interest.

I was with them for all of it, but more like an echo than a participant.

Darlin if I could, I would fall for someone good.

Cry it all out darling because sometimes what you need is a good cry.

How much sadness can you contain inside your heart? How much more darling, till it gets enough?

Careful darling, if the angel in her knows to heal you, the demon in her knows to kill you too.

So darling, pick up those pieces and make something beautiful out of them because you can. You might have to bake them hot to rejoin them but trust me, it’s worth it.

Darling, to be honest, my soul feels free after you left.

But darling, losing you was better than losing me.

I’m not brave any more darling. I’m all broken. They’ve broken me.