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“She is in her formal wear. A ring is new on her pinkie finger. Silver, large. A crest. The school, this country, loves a crest. Farcical little identities. It looks wonderful on her. The knuckle swelling just before the curve. She turns her hand across her cheek. It feels as though everything new she does, this pinkie ring, is for me. Is it self-worth to hold my noticing in such high esteem? My noticing. Impossible to stop.”
― Mrs. S
― Mrs. S
“Haven't I spent a lifetime separating my body from my mind? That is how I survived. I should not be surprised it acts without me.”
― Mrs. S
― Mrs. S
“If I could, I think I'd be as normal as possible. She smiles. Don't be normal, don't bother. That ease of hers, that ease which makes me jealous, it is born from our precise difference. She looks for a way out, I look for a way in.”
― Mrs. S
― Mrs. S
