I wonder as I listen to the birds--a single craw-craw at first, then a full congregation of them--was this what she fled? Not her own death, but the thousands of tiny intersections of her life with others, the broken connections, the links in spite of themselves, the responsibilities? Did we spend all those years running from our loves, our friendships, the casual words uttered in passing that can alter the course of a lifetime?
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Chocolat - Pg 144
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