#quotegrief

[wastedwinter]

Ocean Vuong, from “On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous”

[wastedwinter]

That the world I was in could be soft, lovely, and nourishing was more than I could bear, and so I stood there and wept, for I didn't want to love one more thing in my life, didn't want one more thing that could make my heart break into a million little pieces at my feet. But all the same, there it was, and I could not do much about it; for even I could see that I was too young for real bitterness, real regret, real hard-heartedness.

Jamaica Kincaid from Lucy

[wastedwinter]

Nick Laird, from “Up Late”   (Granta Issue 154)

[wastedwinter]

As for what will become of my body that will depend on who its ownership falls to, as I will be incapable of preference or selfhood.

– Christopher Robinson, from “The Death of My Grandfather”

[wastedwinter]

I became what I am today at the age of twelve, on a frigid overcast day in the winter of 1975.... That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past.... Looking back now, I realize I have been peeking into that deserted alley for the last twenty-six years.

—Khaled Hosseini, The Kite Runner

[wastedwinter]

Being temporary doesn't make something matter any less, because the point isn't for how long, the point is that it happened.

Robyn Schneider, Extraordinary Means

[wastedwinter]

The new pills make me forget things, like reminding the doctor about the refill, and then comes the weekend, which I’ve also forgotten. The child who works at the pharmacy admonishes me: Next time, you and your doctor need to call in ahead of time so this sort of thing doesn’t happen. This is a controlled substance. I ask her if the reason there are tissue boxes at each window is because people cry there. I pose this question instead of detailing the cause of my symptoms. The tissues are for germs. Freckled thing, don’t fuck with the psych patients. I would like to threaten her sanity, her grade point average, her place in the world. I could buckle her floor. The deceased and me, we’re holding hands, the exit sign is an advance directive, we’re in perfect accord. Hush now, don’t explain.

Karen Green, Bough Down