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It is sheer good fortune to miss somebody long before they leave you.
She lost only one battle—the pronunciation of her name.
Because each had discovered years before that they were neither white nor male, and that all freedom and triumph was forbidden to them, they had set about creating something else to be.
feel the oldest and most devastating pain there is: not the pain of childhood, but the remembrance of it.
Not only did men leave and children grow up and die, but even the misery didn’t last. One day she wouldn’t even have that. This very grief that had twisted her into a curve on the floor and flayed her would be gone. She would lose that too.
They were not dead people. They were words. Not even words. Wishes, longings.
It was a fine cry—loud and long—but it had no bottom and it had no top, just circles and circles of sorrow.
