I don't know what happens after we die. It doesn't seem to me like there can be much past this. But I suppose I can conceive that what we make and do can last beyond us. Maybe in a different place, on another plane.
He's throwing everything he can into the air on the chance that something might take flight. And we're the smallest, weakest bird.
But I didn't see it. I believed him unchanging, a stone in all good senses of the word, solid, dependable, something and someone you could build upon. But he is as we all are: light as air, transient as wisps of cloud before the sun, beautiful and fl...
You cannot change your journey if you are unwilling to move at all.
I never needed the Society," she says, "to Match me." (-Lei)
Good-bye,” I say to Grandfather, and to my father, and I hold the tube in the river and pause a moment. We hold the choices of our fathers and mothers in our hands and when we cling on or let them slip between our fingers, those choices become our ...
Did you know Grandfather would give the poems to me?” I ask. “We thought he might,” my mother says. “Why didn’t you stop him?” “We didn’t want to take away your choices,” my mother says. “But Grandfather never did tell me about th...
Sometimes paper is only paper," my mothers says. "Words are just words. Ways to capture the real thing. Don't be afraid to remember that." I know what she means. Writing, painting, singing--it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. ...
I could write paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.
I draw in a ragged breath, the kind you take when the pain is too deep to cry, when you can't cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist.
Writing, painting, singing--it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. But perhaps it can make the pause between death's footsteps sound and look and feel beautiful, can make the space of waiting a place where you can linger without ...
Writing, painting, singing- it cannot stop everything. Cannot halt death in its tracks. But perhaps it can make the pause between death’s footsteps sound and look and feel beautiful, can make the space of waiting a place where you can linger withou...
I know how it feels when people look right through you, or worse, see you as something or someone other than what you are.
I keep telling myself that, and most of the time I believe it.
The earth reflects the sky and the sky meets the earth and, every now and then, if we're lucky, we have a moment to see how small we are.
I draw in a ragged breath, the kind you take when the pain is too deep to cry, when you can't cry because all you are is pain, and if you let some of it out, you might cease to exist. I want to do something to make this better, even though I know tha...
In a story, you can turn to the front and begin again and everyone lives once more. That doesn't work in real life. And I love my real people the most.
No,' she says, as if the suggestion is ridiculous. 'I wouldn't go back to where I'm from. I'd go someplace I've never been.
