Maybe There Are Some Things We Were

Waking, After All, Was An Almost Natal State. You Surfaced Without History, Then Spent The Blinks And Yawns Reassembling Your Past, Shuffling The Shards Into Chronological Order Before Fortifying Yourself For The Present.

... Scarred By Wisdom She'd Never Asked For.

Your First Family Is Your Blood Family And You Always Be True To That. That Means Something. But There's Another Family And That's The Kind You Go Out And Find. Maybe Even By Accident Sometimes. And They're As Much Blood As Your First Family. Maybe More So, Because They Don't Have To Look Out For You And They Don't Have To Love You. They Choose To.

And Often The Worst Thing Wasn't The Victims--they Were Dead, After All, And Beyond Any More Pain. The Worst Thing Was Those Who Loved Them And Survived Them. Often The Walking Dead From Now On, Shell-shocked, Hearts Ruptured, Stumbling Through The Remainder Of Their Lives Without Anything Left Inside Of Them But Blood And Organs, Impervious To Pain, Having Learned Nothing Except That The Worst Things Did, In Fact, Sometimes Happen. (mystic River)

Don't Get Me Wrong, I Love Literary Fiction. It's Faux Literary Fiction I Can't Stand.