Sabrina Benaim · 80 pages
Rating: (3.8K votes)
“i held hands
with my sadness,
sang it songs in the shower,
fed it lunch,
got it drunk
& put it to bed early.”
“mom says where did anxiety come from?
anxiety is the cousin visiting from out of town
depression felt obliged to bring to the party.
mom, i am the party.
only, i am a party i don't want to be at.”
“mom still doesn't understand.
mom,
can't you see?
neither do i.”
“how do i teach my ears to hear songs without the ghosts of you inside of them?”
“insomnia has this romantic way of making the moon feel like perfect company.”
“mom, i am lonely.
i think i learnt it when dad left;
how to turn the anger into lonely,
the lonely into busy.”
“my heart has developed a kind of amnesia, where it remembers everything but itself.”
“i am sleepwalking on an ocean of happiness i cannot baptize myself in.”
“when i see a candle, i see the flesh of a church.
the flicker of life sparks a memory younger than noon;
i am standing beside her open casket,
it is the moment i realize every person i ever come to know will someday die,
besides, mom, i'm not afraid of the dark,
perhaps that is part of the problem.”
“it's weird how a jacket can be more reliable than a father.”
“my happy is a high fever that will break, my happy is as hollow as a pin-pricked egg”
“& my heart has developed a kind of amnesia, where it remembers everything but itself.”
“Its like a hypnotist put everyone from Seattle into a collective trance. "You are getting sleepy, when you wake up you will want to live only in a Craftsman house, the year won't matter to you, all that will matter is that the walls will be thick, the windows tiny, the rooms dark, the ceilings low, and it will be poorly situated on the lot.”
“It is true that the original of this story is put into new words, and the style of the famous lady we here speak of is a little altered; particularly she is made to tell her own tale in modester words that she told it at first, the copy which came first to hand having been written in language more like one still in Newgate than one grown penitent and humble, as she afterwards pretends to be.”
“Without any wind blowing, the sheer weight of a raindrop, shining in parasitic luxury on a cordate leaf, caused its tip to dip, and what looked like a globule of quicksilver performed a sudden glissando down the centre vein, and then, having shed its bright load, the relieved leaf unbent. Tip, leaf, dip, relief - the instant it all took to happen seemed to me not so much a fraction of time as a fissure in it, a missed heartbeat, which was refunded at once by a patter of rhymes: I say 'patter' intentionally, for when a gust of wind did come, the trees would briskly start to drip all together in as crude an imitation of the recent downpour as the stanza I was already muttering resembled the shock of wonder I had experienced when for a moment heart and leaf had been one.”
“Maybe kissing is sort of like nature's coffee.
-Jonathan”
“no man can expect his children to respect what he degrades.' 'Ha,”
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