Autumn (Seasonal, #1)

by Ali Smith

days away from dying he found himself punning like there was no tomorrow.

I do, the neighbour said. Very pleased to meet you both. Finally. How do you mean, finally? Elisabeth said. We only moved here six weeks ago. The lifelong friends, he said. We sometimes wait a lifetime for them.

I’m tired of the violence there is and I’m tired of the violence that’s on its way, that’s coming, that hasn’t happened yet.

I’ll tell you what will happen, Daniel said. This. You and I will know I’ve lied, but your mother won’t. You and I will know something that your mother doesn’t. That will make us feel different towards not just your mother, but each other. A wedge will come between us all. You will stop trusting me, and quite right, because I’d be a liar. We’ll all be lessened by the lie.

The power of the lie, Daniel said. Always seductive to the powerless.

It is possible, he said, to be in love not with someone but with their eyes. I mean, with how eyes that aren’t yours let you see where you are, who you are.

It is a privilege, to watch someone sleep, Elisabeth tells herself. It is a privilege to be able to witness someone both here and not here. To be included in someone’s absence, it is an honour, and it asks quiet. It asks respect.

Here’s an old story so new that it’s still in the middle of happening, writing itself right now with no knowledge of where or how it’ll end.

Myself, I thought about you the whole time. Even when I wasn’t thinking about you, I thought about you.

Life? was what you worked to catch, the intense happiness of an object slightly set apart from you.