nana

“That night, she had slept in strange hot fits on his futon and woken in the red-eye of the morning to find herself alone, realising after several bleary moments that he had left the room and closed the door behind him. [...] A very slender sort of betrayal, the deliberate absence from a room.”
― Julia Armfield, Salt Slow

“I explained to her the way I felt I floated up out of myself and observed the whole thing loosely, from a distance. I explained the way i felt no better or worse after doing it, only an overwhelming sense of having missed the point.”
― Julia Armfield, Salt Slow

“When she was a child, she had inherited a ratty canvas tent which her mother had allowed her to drag down from the attic and sit inside. The thrill of a pretended journey had been enough to entertain her for days at time, zipped up with her books and a beakerful of cramberry juice, imagining strange shadows dancing on the fabric walls. You liked it because you liked four walls around you, her mother told her later, you liked to have things where you could see them - your little books and toys and pencils - to zip them up with you and keep them close.”
― Julia Armfield, Salt Slow

“We didn't speak for three days, during which time I became so panicked at the thought of losing her that I sent her a total of thirty-nine hysterically casual messages - a photograph of my breakfast, a quote from a movie, a long text about which of my trains had been delayed that day.”
― Julia Armfield, Salt Slow