If you want to know someone's story, they have to tell it aloud. But every time, the telling is a little but different. It's new, even to me.
...when they look at me, I so badly want to be who they see.
When you're a parent you find yourself looking at the unknown that is your child, trying to find a piece of yourself inside her, because sometimes that is what it takes to claim.
Sometimes knowing what's right isn't a rational decision, or even what works on paper. Sometimes leaving is the best course of action after all.
That's the crazy thing about lies. You start to fall for them, yourself.
You can't hate someone until you know what it might be like to love them.
I would tell them that when you look at a person, you never know what the're hiding.
We sit for a few more moments, although there's really nothing left to say. This is new to me, too, an entire conversation that takes place in silence, because the heart has its own language. I will remember what Eric says even though he doesn't say a word. I will tell it to her.
Asking me to describe my son is like asking me to hold the ocean in a paper cup
The first question she was asked was What do you do? as if that were enough to define you. Nobody ever asked you who you really were, because that changed. You might be a judge or a mother or a dreamer. You might be a loner or a visionary or a pessimist. You might be the victim, and you might be the bully. You could be the parent, and also the child. You might wond one day and heal the next.
Do you know how there are moments when the world moves so slowly you can feel your bones shifting, your mind tumbling? When you think that no matter what happens to you for the rest of your life, you will remember every last detail of that one minute forever?
And that was the greatest heartbreak of all- no matter how spectacular we want our children to be, no matter how perfect we pretend they are, they are bound to disappoint. As it turns out, kids are more like us than we think: damaged, through and through.
Imagine if you were the positive pole of a magnet, and you were told that under no circumstances were you allowed to touch that negative pole that was sucking you in like a black hole. Or if you crawled out of the desert and found a woman standing with a pitcher of ice water, but she held it out of your reach. Imagine jumping off a building, and then being told not to fall. That's what it feels like to want a drink.
Knowledge was power, but a good librarian did not hoard the gift. She taught others how to find, where to look, how to see.
I used to think I'd be just like them when I grew up, but I am not. And the thing is, somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting to be like them, anyway.
I used to pretend that I was just passing through this family on my way to my real one.
I look for places like me: big, hollow, forgotten by most everyone.
After all, the only way to communicate is to find someone who can comprehend; the only way to be forgiven is to find someone who is willing to forgive.
Is it because they are so comfortable, they already know what the other is thinking? Or is it because after a certain point, there is simply nothing left to say?
This is when I realize that Anna has already left the table, and more importantly, that nobody noticed.
It is so easy to presume that while your own world has ground to an absolute halt, so has everyone else's.
There is nothing worse than silence, strung like heavy beads on too delicate a conversation.
You okay in there?" "No, I'm hanging from a closet rod.
My mother walks forward. She's crying, but there's a smile on her face. For God's sake, is it any wonder I can't ever understand what you people are feeling?
The bottom line in both cases is that people don't change; that no matter how charming you are and how fiercely you love, you cannot turn a person into something she's not.
"Everyone still deserves to have their say."
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