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That when a man discovers where to hurt you, the way he touches you changes. He won’t be able to stop himself from pressing hard against that spot, no matter how many times it makes you cry.
(Are we ever the same person with someone else? And if we’re not, what happens when one of you leaves, where does that version of you go?
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And someone called Kierkegaard, who says: It begins, in fact, with nothing and therefore can always begin,
In the seventies, you didn’t visit New York. You lived here. You escaped whatever life your parents had made for you, and you landed in a place asking only that you live in it, make of it for yourself.’
How easy it is, Ruby will think later, back in her studio, to assume you are the cause of another person’s discomfort or disdain, when the reality is, we all show up with our night befores, our midnight hours and too-early mornings. She
When the dead speak back, we are seldom loud enough to be heard over the clamour of all that living going on.
People mourn the future that is lost when someone dies. But what about the past? What about all that is bound up in a person, and all the things that disappear when they die?
