Pure Colour

by Sheila Heti

It is simple to love one’s own creature. But that is a debt the child can never repay—to have been given all that love and care. It feels completely unbalanced.

They are the most dangerous ones, who would change the world if they could. We know which people are threatening to the gods by how exhausted they feel all the time. Those who would not make as many fixes are not given as much fatigue. You know the gods consider you dangerous if you are tired all the time.

Perhaps it won’t be so bad when we all die at once, once the beginning to the second draft comes; perhaps it won’t be so upsetting. That we are made to die, one at a time, here in the first draft of existence—that is the pain and the longing. That is the beautiful.

They had loved each other and so all was forgiven, for this draft is not just a place of blessings where things are supposed to go well. Getting through it is enough, and they did. They got through their entire lives to death. And the final moments are the true ones, and the true ones are the truest of all.