People Think They Know The

The Job Of The Writer Is To Look At Where He Is Now And Make Some Sort Of Emotional Sense Of It, Not Only For That Moment But For Years To Come.

She Was Tired Of Everyone Wanting To Go To Heaven, Nobody Wanting To Die. The Only Thing Worth Grieving Over, She Said, Was That Sometimes There Was More Beauty In This Life Than The World Could Bear.

And I Suddenly Think, As I Look Across The Table At Him, That These Are The Days As They Will Be. This Is The Future As We See It. The Swerve And The Static. The Confidence And The Doubt.

This Is Not My Life. These Are Not My Cobwebs. This Is Not The Darkness I Was Designed For.

We Have To Listen To Other People's Stories. That's The Thing. And That's The Only Way That We Eventually Get To Know Ourselves.