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The stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader’s brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing.

Aimee Bender

You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
AIMEE BENDER

Anything Focus Ruin
Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn’t appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.
AIMEE BENDER

Appreciate Flaw Kid Later Life Mess Parent Seem Strong
You feel wonderful, you feel like somebody knows you’re alive, you feel fear because it could be a bomb, because you think you’re that important.
AIMEE BENDER

Alive Bomb Important Somebody Think Wonderful
There’s a gift in your lap and it’s beautifully wrapped and it’s not your birthday.
AIMEE BENDER

Beautiful Birthday Important Lap Think Wrap
And the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
AIMEE BENDER

Arrive Believe Glorious Inside Music Passion Second Warmest
It seems the best work I do is when I am really allowing the unconscious to rule the page and then later I can go back and hack around and make sense of things.
AIMEE BENDER

Allow Back Best Later Page Seem Unconscious Work Writing
Light is good company, when alone; I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.
AIMEE BENDER

Bulb Comfort Company Good Light Living Room Took Warmest Yellow
It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
AIMEE BENDER

Lowest Moment Rescue Surprise
My eyelids are my own private cave, he murmured. That I can go to anytime I want.
AIMEE BENDER

Anytime Cave Eyelid Private Want
It was a fleeting statement, one I didn’t think she’d hold on to; after all, she had birthed us alone, diapered and fed us, helped us with homework, kissed and hugged us, poured her love into us.
AIMEE BENDER

After Birthed Fleet Help Homework Kiss Love Pour Statement
As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
AIMEE BENDER

Awake Dreams Writer Writing Yourself
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.
AIMEE BENDER

Ghost Grab Hand Light Self Step Street
I am the drying meadow; you the unspoken apology; he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son.
AIMEE BENDER

Apology Baby Distance Drying Fluctuate Life Mother Son Unspoken
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.
AIMEE BENDER

Body Darling Daughter Different Kind Pour Siphoned Tamer Water
You’re the perfect girl’, he said, rubbing his chin. ‘You expect nothing.
AIMEE BENDER

Expect Girl Nothing Perfect Rub
With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
AIMEE BENDER

Apartment Building Dark Hand Look Love Peer Room Rush Streetside Window

The stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader’s brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing.

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The stories themselves haunt, they stick around, they linger, inhabiting a little corner of the reader’s brain and resurfacing to evoke mystery or sadness or longing.

Related Topics

Popular Authors

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