It Lasts Forever and Then It's Over

That feeling of abundance depended not upon excess and not scarcity, but finitude and a kind of thrift. It had to do with there being only so much time in the day but still more than just enough and using up every ounce of it, not wasting a moment. But to be undead is to be superfluous, perpetual. The moon is always full. We dream without sleeping. We refuse to return to the earth. Hunger is relentless.

Every metaphor presents itself as what was there all along.

It’s as if all my life I wanted it there. Or the space for it was there. The possibility.
Ideas of things, feelings of things, are becoming the things themselves.

names are the most commonplace ritual. ‘Little prayers,’ he says, that connect us to each other and to humanity.

And it is quieter. And the quiet is emptier.

If I ever remember your name, how will I know it was really your name?

We are character actors to ourselves – people we recognise but can’t name.

It is my human shape that allows me to see myself, feel myself, as a human. Without the arm, it is that much harder. If you were here, you would tell me that you would have fallen in love with me no matter when we met. Even when I was a horse, you would say. Even now, you would say. Even now you would fall in love with me.

I think it is going too far to say fear – were generalised and inscrutable enough that I could overlook them. Conceal from myself the fact and ramifications of my actions.

The possibilities of my current situation had not occurred to me before now. The freedom. There is a crow in my chest.