Abbie James

“Where should I start? I texted my old Jiko this question, and she wrote back this: 現在地で始まるべき. You should start where you are.”
― Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being

“Yes," I told her. "I'm angry, so what?"

..... I went on, giving her an executive summary of my crappy life.

....

"So of course I feel angry," I said angrily. "What do you expect? It was a stupid thing to ask."

"Yes," she agreed. "It was a stupid thing to ask. I see that you're angry. I don't need to ask such a stupid thing to understand that."

"So why did you ask?"

Slowly she turned herself around, pivoting on her knees, until finally she was facing me, "I asked for you," she said.

"For me?"

So you could hear the answer.”
― Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being

“Anticipating sorrow to neutralize sorrow—that’s paltry, cowardly stuff, I told myself, knowing I was an ace practitioner of the craft. And what if it came fiercely? What if it came and didn’t let go, a sorrow that had come to stay, and did to me what longing for him had done on those nights when it seemed there was something so essential missing from my life that it might as well have been missing from my body, so that losing him now would be like losing a hand you could spot in every picture of yourself around the house, but without which you couldn’t possibly be you again. You lose it, as you always knew you would, and were even prepared to; but you can’t bring yourself to live with the loss. And hoping not to think of it, like praying not to dream of it, hurts just the same.

Then a strange idea got hold of me: What if my body—just my body, my heart—cried out for his? What to do then?

What if at night I wouldn’t be able to live with myself unless I had him by me, inside me? What then?

Think of the pain before the pain.

I knew what I was doing. Even in my sleep, I knew what I was doing. Trying to immunize yourself, that’s what you’re doing—you’ll end up killing the whole thing this way—sneaky, cunning boy, that’s what you are, sneaky, heartless, cunning boy. I smiled at the voice. The sun was right on me now, and I loved the sun with a near-pagan love for the things of earth. Pagan, that’s what you are. I had never known how much I loved the earth, the sun, the sea—people, things, even art seemed to come second. Or was I fooling myself?”
― André Aciman, Call Me By Your Name

“Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.”
― Richard Siken, War of the Foxes