Jenn Malzone

“Franny gave her sister a tired smile. 'Oh, my love', she said. 'What do the only children do?'
'We'll never have to know', Caroline said.”
― Ann Patchett, Commonwealth

“Like Seita and Setsuko, like Chihiro - like Sophie Hatter who disappears from her dreary life into a world of talking fireballs and melting wizards - the myth of grief is not just a case of falling down the rabbit hole to escape reality. It's about what happens to us on the descent, what happened once we're down there, and in which ways we are profoundly changed forever once we re-emerge - if, that is, we're lucky enough to do so. It is a different kind of myth: one which doesn't so much offer up the answers as it does provide a way to find them for ourselves. It is a maze - a labyrinth - in which we are sent to become lost before the possibility of escape is even contemplated. It is not quick - it is not easy. There is no map, no key, no legend, and no scale. There is only the maze itself and the quiet echoes of the world above. A shelter until the moment it becomes a prison, grief is the myth we live by when living feels impossible.”
― Karl Thomas Smith

“I'd catch Makoto gazing at me dreamily, with his big clear eyes and his surprisingly thick brows drawn into a neat line, and I would know that he was looking at the glow of my soul, or whatever it was.
Then all of a sudden, I would feel free from all the anxieties that weighed on my mind...by a strong, bright, rose-colored light.
It was only much later that I learned the light came from me, and what Makoto had done was to be its witness and protector.”
― Banana Yoshimoto, Dead-End Memories: Stories

“His sheer presence made a room feel warmer, made me feel like I'd been blessed. I understood exactly why people wanted to be near him, like he was kind of talisman...I knew firsthand that after talking to him, I didn't feel lonely at all. My body felt more at ease, my thoughts happier. I felt like life might yet have good things in store for me. And it wasn't a heady, unmoored feeling, but a quiet, rolling wave.
This feels good, I thought. I'm just happy he's here. I don't need him to be mine. I wanted to appreciate him the way I did giant trees in the park, which gave people shelter and relief but didn't belong to anybody. Since I'd always assumed he was something to be shared, to me he was akin to cake, or a hot spring, or good music, a steady presence I could rely on to be there when I needed to catch my breath.”
― Banana Yoshimoto, Dead-End Memories: Stories