She Liked To Imagine That

Each Time I Told My Story, I Lost A Bit, The Smallest Drop Of Pain.

There Wasn't A Lot Of Bullshit In My Heaven.

It's Very Weird To Succeed At Thirty-nine Years Old And Realize That In The Midst Of Your Failure, You Were Slowly Building The Life That You Wanted Anyway.

These Were The Lovely Bones That Had Grown Around My Absence: The Connections-sometimes Tenuous, Sometimes Made At Great Cost, But Often Magnificent-that Happened After I Was Gone. And I Began To See Things In A Way That Let Me Hold The World Without Me In It. The Events That My Death Wrought Were Merely The Bones Of A Body That Would Become Whole At Some Unpredictable Time In The Future. The Price Of What I Came To See As This Miraculous Body Had Been My Life.

When The Music Stopped, It Could Have Been Forever Since We'd Begun. My Grandfather Took A Step Back, And The Light Grew Yellow At His Back. 'i'm Going,' He Said. 'where?' I Asked. 'don't Worry, Sweetheart. You're So Close.' He Turned And Walked Away, Disappearing Rapidly Into Spots And Dust. Infinity.