In My 20s, I Railed Against Anything

Each Time I Told My Story, I Lost A Bit, The Smallest Drop Of Pain.

But She Was Waiting Patiently. She No Longer Believed In Talk. It Never Rescued Anything. At Seventy She Had Come To Believe In Time Alone. ~pg 254

And My Sister, My Lindsey, Left Me In Her Memories, Where I Was Meant To Be.

Once Released From Life, Having Lost It In Such Violence, I Couldn’t Calculate My Steps. I Didn’t Have Time For Contemplation. In Violence It Is The Getting Out That You Concentrate On. When You Begin To Go Over The Edge, Life Receding From You As A Boat Recedes Inevitably From The Shore, You Hold On To Death Tightly, Like A Rope That Will Transport You, And You Swing Out On It, Hoping To Land Away From Where You Are.

But, He Also Said It Because Part Of Him Wanted More Of Her, This Cold Woman Who Was Not Exactly Cold, This Rock Who Was Not Stone.