Sunday, February 21, 2010

the books know us better; or, notes on a [Sun]day


Here, God says, here is your cupful of days.

If you don't believe in God, you still get your cupful of days. Some will be spent making love, some will be spent high, some will be spent reading
Ulysses, and some will be spent alone. Some will be spent around a table, a meal about to be passed, a steaming bowl of rice, some sautéed kale. It's someone's birthday, someone you have known for ten, no, twenty, years. To your right is a woman you slept with seven years ago--at the time, you thought it might work out, but it didn't. Across from you is the woman you are with now, and at this point it could be forever, whatever that means.

Some of the days you are given will be spent in a strange city, and at the end of the day you will know that you have spoken to no one except the girl you got your coffee from, no one except here. There will always be days like this.

This and lots of other amazing sentencestuff can be found in Nick Flynn's The Ticking is the Bomb.

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