Monday, January 02, 2017
Sleepless Nights by Elizabeth Hardwick
When you travel your first discovery is that you do not exist.
Of course these things are not mine. I think they are usually spoken of as ours, that tea bag of a word which steeps in the conditional.
...all the destinies linked by a likeness of forehead and nose...
While you are living, part of you has slipped away to the cemetery
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