"Write it till it's gone," she said, and I nearly wept at the simplicity of it, its resounding truth, the way it saved me from my own terrible censure. I have since been freed from that tangled topic, extricated myself from its sticky web, but others take its place, and I know them as ones that must be written by me and which will not be denied.
This urgency of our stories, it breathes us, occupies our linguistic landscape, regardless of what we try to place in the foreground. Perhaps all we can really do is acquiesce. Let them take their places and animate our words with their light...until they finish and pass quietly into the eternity of stories that stretches out behind us, gently reminding us of where we've been.
This urgency of our stories, it breathes us, occupies our linguistic landscape, regardless of what we try to place in the foreground. Perhaps all we can really do is acquiesce. Let them take their places and animate our words with their light...until they finish and pass quietly into the eternity of stories that stretches out behind us, gently reminding us of where we've been.
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