heaven, what is that?

“She was my Spiritual anguish, a deep pining, nostalgia or love-sickness - to me she was an endless sward of birch on the edge oceans, in the dead of spring when the clouds stay still, and it’s only light for a few hours a day. To me she was a delirious happiness, to me she was a heartfelt conversation at 4am at steps of the porch… to me she was a destructive force who had softened me to the bone.”

“His silence had begun as something protective, but over the years it has transformed into something near oppressive, something that manages him rather than the other way around. Now he cannot find a way out of it, even when he wants to. He imagines he is floating in a small bubble of water, encased on all sides by walls and ceilings and floors of ice, all many feet thick. He knows there is a way out, but he is unequipped; he has no tools to begin his work, and his hands scrabble uselessly against the ice’s slick.”

Everyone wants a rock bottom. Some Icarus shit. But the truth is some holes keep going, yawning, heady, one mistake becomes three: there’s always a dark darker than the dark you know.

“When I die, derange my ashes on her coffin — disseminate, dispel, suffuse it around her epitaph … I don’t care if you invect, aperture her grave — as long as you stain it with my ashes, dust it within her catafalque. Until there is nothing but a blur of ossein, of bones. Until nothing is left to the mortal eye but us.”