Wednesday, May 21, 2008
"It might be desirable to get away, really away, further away than little grey-green England, but this privilege was evidently to be denied her. Deep in her soul--deeper than any appetite for renunciation--was the sense that life would be her business for a long time to come. And at moments there was something inspiring, almost enlivening in the conviction. It was a proof of strength--it was proof she should someday be happy again. It couldn't be she was to live only to suffer; she was still young, after all, and a great many things might happen to her yet. To live only to suffer--only to feel the injury of life repeated and enlarged--it seemed to her she was too valuable, too capable, for that."
(The Portrait of a Lady)
Monday, May 19, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
Her voice was in my apartment. I stared in disbelief at the cell phone across the couch. She was there, sweet, unfamiliar, and full of anticipation. And in that instant her voice somehow reached deep into my chest and ripped out my heart destroying everything I thought I knew to be true. Hot tears burned paths of betrayal down my cheeks. The absurdity of it all made me laugh, half hysterical, but then reality sunk in. I was nauseous and knew there was nothing I could do, nothing that would make this terrible reality, this unbearable pain disappear. Because her voice was in my apartment. So I sank to the floor and sobbed.