Heather Rose

“. . . a stone, a leaf, an unfound door; a stone, a leaf, a door. And of all the forgotten faces.

Naked and alone we came into exile. In her dark womb we did not know our mother's face; from the prison of her flesh have we come into the unspeakable and incommunicable prison of this earth.

Which of us has known his brother? Which of us has looked into his father's heart? Which of us has not remained forever prison-pent? Which of us is not forever a stranger and alone?

O waste of lost, in the hot mazes, lost, among bright stars on this weary, unbright cinder, lost! Remembering speechlessly we seek the great forgotten language, the lost lane-end into heaven, a stone, a leaf, an unfound door. Where? When?

O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.”
― Thomas Wolfe, Look Homeward, Angel

“The more vast the amount of time we've left behind us, the more irresistible is the voice calling us to return to it.”
― Milan Kundera, Ignorance

“but back then, in those first days, I was so alone that every day was like eating my own heart.”
― Junot Díaz, This Is How You Lose Her

“She's sensitive, too. Takes to hurt the way water takes to paper.”
― Junot Díaz, This Is How You Lose Her