Destiny, she’d learned, was written in the heavens; a person couldn’t take what the universe didn’t wish to give.
I wanted only a familiar voice, someone who knew me. Not some earlier, larval version of myself. . .
But his singing was unconscious and irrepressible – an expression of his native exuberance, the dreamy, buoyant soundtrack running through his head.
The human heart: its expansions and contractions its electrics and hydraulics the warm tides that move and fill it. For years Art had studied it from a safe distance from many perspectives…he listened in fascination...
The story of my family. . .changes with the teller.
I open my heart to her and lay it on the table.
It was a lesson most people learned much earlier; that even friendship could have an undisclosed shelf life. That loyalty and affection, so consuming and powerful, could dissipate like fog.
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