My Favorite Terrible Thing

by Madeleine Henry

for everyone who’s a prisoner to great stories

It’s knowing that everyone is easily wounded and vengeful. That when it gets dark, everyone likes to watch fire burn.

I hide my surprise like a well-guarded therapist. Someone who keeps their judgments to themselves, so the person in the armchair will say more.

“Even if that’s true, even if you feel that way, to say it at a moment like that is . . .” “What?” she demands. “Spiteful. It’s the kind of thing you say when you want to draw blood.”

It’s not just the intent way they listen, as if they care about the gaps between your words.

“Most people have strong feelings, then let them go,” she says. “It’s part of becoming an adult. Learning how to—lose. Bad ideas. Friendships that ran their course. Goals that aren’t worth it in the end. Growing up is giving up on the right things.”

The sky brightens slowly without looking like morning, only changing the color of the night. Emily Dickinson had the perfect line for moments like this. “Not knowing when the dawn will come, I open every door.” That’s exactly how I feel. Hopeful in the dark. Eventually, stars fade into the sunrise.

Stephen King did call books a unique kind of magic.

Maybe it’s easier to be known superficially by millions than it is to be known very well by one.

It’s harder to ignore your pain when someone else sees it, when they’re staring at you.

“Do you know yourself as well as you know me?” She squints doubtfully. The next part comes out even more slowly. “I think you’re being everyone you can except yourself. What are you so afraid of? I could probably answer that for you, but I think you need to answer it yourself.”

Victor Hugo: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

When you’re in love with someone, you don’t see them the way that you should.”

I worshipped novels for the next ten years, as if they could save me.