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She often made such small, thoughtful gestures.
Don’t you understand what you are to me?
Perhaps all lives became brimful of pain, eventually. Well, then. Let her daughter’s start painlessly, in joy.
“Because you are you. To me.”
“Fuck,” Sima said feelingly.
“Lata,” he said. “How could I not be sad?”
“I don’t know,” he said, suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know what I want.”
“An act of love does not require asking,”
You are not my brother. This is not my brother. “You are my brother,”
Surely you know it.
“I can do anything.”
He felt small and helpless in the face of it; painfully conscious of his mortal body and mortal bones.
“Have you been hallucinating?” “I’ve been traveling,” Priya said, which sounded like a yes.
I don’t love you in pieces, I don’t separate you into parts. But Priya would have heard the lie in that.
“Oh. Look at you.” “You’re looking,” Priya agreed, with nonsensical tenderness.
“I am tired of wanting and not taking,” Malini said.
“If I can’t hold on to you, then I can hold on to no one,”
that all griefs in the world came back over and over again, spinning like a terrible wheel.
Only silence, in the aftermath, where his heart had once been.