And so I walked out to my mailbox this morning with the vague restlessness of someone scared she’s being watched, and opened it to find an envelope addressed to me, from an address I didn’t recognize. It was Amber’s book, bought so long ago I had forgotten all about it.
And as I sat down to read, not knowing how many of its pages would be about death and guilt, and leaving and staying, always leaving and staying, I found myself crying because I so desperately wished for a friend who understood exactly what that meant, someone for whom sadness was and is more than a fleeting thought, who can understand why licking honey off the back of a spoon, or finding old post it notes, can be just as devastating as anything you might read in the news.
I started this book at 10:30am and finished it at 1:30pm. And even as I thought to myself that it probably wasn’t the best book for today, even as I felt its effects seeping into text message replies and facebook posts, I was despairingly grateful for its lumbering presence. For its sadness and its longing and its loss.
Because there are certain things you should know. And some you never will.
– Reading :: Andrea of párjaros y muñecas
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