Often I wish this would all be over, Liesel, but then somehow you do something like walk down the basement steps with a snowman in your hands.
I collect my thoughts as if they will stain me, murder me, and then resurrect me.
The rot started
That would make two weeks, she would later write in the basemen. Two weeks to change the world, and fourteen days to ruin it.
The injury of words. Yes, the brutality of words. She
I don’t really know that this story has a whole lot of things happen in it. It doesn’t really. It’s just a record of how things were in my life during this last winter. I guess things happened, but nothing out of the ordinary.
If only she could be so oblivious again, to feel such love without knowing it, mistaking it for laughter and bread with only the scent of jam spread on top of it. It was the best time of her life.
She could only hope they could read the depth of sorrow in her face, to recognize that it was true, and not fleeting. I
On the other hand, you’re a human–you should understand self-obsession.
For a moment, I debated whether I should tell someone about the words I’d started writing down, but I couldn’t. In a way, I felt ashamed, even though my writing was the one thing that whispered okayness in my ear. I didn’t speak it, to anyone.