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blotto.
“Huge thing’s your ego. Awful that you weren’t the only man for her. Girl scrubs your toilets for twenty-three years, you begrudge her the life she had when you weren’t around.” “But she lied,” he said. “Please. Marriage is made of lies. Kind ones, mostly. Omissions. If you give voice to the things you think every day about your spouse, you’d crush them to paste. She never lied. Just never said.”
It comes over us that we shall never again hear the laughter of our friend, that this garden is forever locked against us. And at that moment begins our true grief. Antoine de Saint-Exupéry said this.
She’d survived on wine and sugar for months because, fuck it, she never really got a childhood, and what was grief but an extended tantrum to be salved by sex and candy?
Horrible to think that inside a human being there could be a human being.
“Did you know that the total weight of all the ants on earth is the same as the total weight of all the humans on earth?”
“We’re lonely down here,” he said. “It’s true. But we’re not alone.”
Unplug from the humble needs of the body and a person becomes no more than a ghost.
In they’d come, integers; out they came, squared.
