the cutting scars on her son’s arms sometimes seemed to spell out Pete’s name in the thin lines there, the loss of fathers etched primitively in an algebra of skin
de Thank You For Having Me
If you were alone when you were born, alone when you were dying, really absolutely alone when you were dead, why “learn to be alone” in between? If you had forgotten, it would quickly come back to you. Aloneness was like riding a bike. At gunpoint. With the gun in your own hand. Aloneness was the air in your tires, the wind in your hair. You didn’t have to go looking for it with open arms. With open arms, you fell off the bike: I was drinking my wine too quickly.
y de Wings
When a wall was knocked down, and its quiet secrets sent scattering, the lines between things seemed up for grabs.
(de paso, esta historia me enseñó lo que era un rat king y tumbó una pared en mi mente)