Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Would a lamed vovnik do this?

I did not understand how you can miss the way somebody holds things.

Sometimes I forget that the world is not on the same schedule as I. That everything is not dying, or that if it is dying it will return to life, what with a little sun and the usual encouragement.

The truth is that she told me she couldn't love me. When she said goodbye, she was saying goodbye forever.
And yet.
I made myself forget. I don't know why. I keep asking myself. But I did.

I've waited my whole life for her, she was the opposite of death - and now I'm still here waiting.

I like to imagine the first time she leaned in to kiss that stranger, how she must have felt herself falling for him, or perhaps simply away from her loneliness, and it's like some tiny nothing that sets off a natural disaster halfway across the world, only this was the opposite of disaster, how by accident she saved me with that thoughtless act of grace, and she never knew, and how that, too, is part of the highway of love.

The oldest man in the world laughed.

I wanted to make you laugh.
Also to cry.

Who is Bruno?
He's the friend I didn't have.
He's the greatest character I ever wrote.

I wanted to say her name aloud, it would have given me joy to call, because I knew that in some small way it was my love that named her. And yet. I couldn't speak. I was afraid I'd choose the wrong sentence.

From Nicole Krauss' The History of Love.

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