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It’s closer to trying to remember a dream now. Every day a little more of it escapes me.”
the cat and I are prisoners, with time as a shackle and space as a jailor.
A speedy exit makes for…complications.”
human history was just one brutal onslaught of grief, and that losing a lover or a child was really part of the burden of being alive in the first place.
You pulled me into a doorway and we made out for what could well have been a year.
“What really interests me,” Einstein said once, “is whether God had any choice in the creation of the world.”
You were staring at eternity. I was staring at your butt.
Feel free to come home at any point. For the cat’s sake. And for mine a bit also.
Is it possible to love someone for being less than the myth you expected? There are the early days aren't there, of courting and screwing, of kissing goodbye for ages and growing obsessed. You studiously watch this other human for hints of their deep-psychology. If they're nice to the waiter, maybe that means they're a nice person etc. But if you stick it out with someone long enough, if you make it through all that, if you live with them, if you watch them go through a bereavement or some horrible disease, then they'll give you a peek or two at their true face. If the conditions are right
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