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300 pages, Paperback
First published April 27, 2014
If we were a house, Gregory and me would never have made it past the planning stage.
Occasionally I have felt the vomit rise in my throat but if I swallow down fast enough I can return it to a peaceful slumber, like a trained dragon, full of hot breath but no fire.
It’s much harder to judge a crazy person when they know you too have been touched by the same affliction.
Cigarettes are not for show. They are to be hidden away, like he wishes he could do to me, but instead is forced to do to Ishiko.
Dana’s compliments make you feel good, even if they are not always believable. Jemima’s always remind you of your flaws. To her I can’t look just nice. I have to look well, so that I remember at one point I didn’t. I don’t like her at all. She thinks of me as common, and I think of her as a bitch.
I look like a moving version of a [f . . . d] up Picasso, my features out of line and two dimensional.
But by wanting out, trying to die, it was too much for him. It meant he was a failure. If I wanted to die, it meant he couldn’t be my everything. There was a better, more attractive alternative in death, than him. He can’t get past that idea, so he has found his own alternative. He didn’t even have to leave his home. But perhaps I shouldn’t be so hard on him. Coming second place to the finality of death? Perhaps there isn’t a man in the world that could understand or accept that.