After a while I started to think of that as an image of something that went a lot deeper than the dead dog, which is you can’t bring back anything to life.
That last note, “in the same respect,” says a lot. As soon as you change the frame of reference, you’ve changed the truthiness of a once immutable fact.
I was a child, and my mother was psychotic. She loved me, but I didn’t really feel I had a mother. And when you live with somebody who is paranoid and thinks you’re trying to kill them all the time, you tend to feel a little betrayed.
The best things said come last. People will talk for hours saying nothing much and then linger at the door with words that come with a rush from the heart.
A taste; a painful longing. but the net is always too porous, and we are left with the sweet frustration of almost knowing, which is teasingly pleasurable.
