The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 6

by Beth Brower

He speaks words the way they pound in my chest. And it feels like a miracle, finding such a dear part of oneself walking around in someone else’s body.

I thought perhaps setting the house on fire was a reasonable distraction.

The idea that one could live in a world where a friend would invite you to go read in another’s library feels more dream than reality. It bodes well for my life’s prospects.

There is no feeling quite like finishing a book that you’ve loved. I expect to feel nothing less.

“I should apologise to you,” he said. The last thing I felt owed was an apology.

All of me feels shaken.