At times I’m alone, and need to be alone; at times she does too. But I can always count on a moment, sometimes once in a day, sometimes more, when I see her patting down the sheets on the bed, or watering the front window violets, and I am struck by the good fortune of my life.
At times I’m alone, and need to be alone; at times she does too. But I can always count on a moment, sometimes once in a day, sometimes more, when I see her patting down the sheets on the bed, or watering the front window violets, and I am struck by the good fortune of my life.
Anne and I have been married seven years, and sometimes I think the history of marriage can be written like this: People Want Too Much.
Anne and I have been married seven years, and sometimes I think the history of marriage can be written like this: People Want Too Much.
Then it’s time to dump this death water, to thoroughly rinse the sedated pieces under a running faucet, and to put them back into a clean pot filled with fresh water. It’s simply meat, simply food; all that was fearsome is gone. A calm blue flower of propane, just a little bit of heat. Let it simmer quietly; this is a five-to-six-hour undertaking.
Then it’s time to dump this death water, to thoroughly rinse the sedated pieces under a running faucet, and to put them back into a clean pot filled with fresh water. It’s simply meat, simply food; all that was fearsome is gone. A calm blue flower of propane, just a little bit of heat. Let it simmer quietly; this is a five-to-six-hour undertaking.
This girl, he liked her is the truth. He liked the way her hair rolled all the way down her back in big curls, like water over rocks. He watched her lock the car and hit the button twice, like she wasn’t sure she’d done it correctly. Everything about her seemed unsure and fragile, but she was open; that was what he sensed. He said, Hey, and she turned toward him without fear, despite everything—him, with the county wristband, filthy, soaked in sweat.
This girl, he liked her is the truth. He liked the way her hair rolled all the way down her back in big curls, like water over rocks. He watched her lock the car and hit the button twice, like she wasn’t sure she’d done it correctly. Everything about her seemed unsure and fragile, but she was open; that was what he sensed. He said, Hey, and she turned toward him without fear, despite everything—him, with the county wristband, filthy, soaked in sweat.