Week Thirty One.

“…Come. Walk with me along the beach. We will look at your Hopper sunlight on the houses. You will contemplate God and I will contemplate futility.”

The book: My Name is Asher Lev by Chaim Potok

The memory:

Beautiful Way to Go

Does forgiveness come with age?

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I’m currently sitting in my mom’s living room, with a recording of Buddhist chantings entering one ear, and the daily morning gossip entering the other.

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This morning I got to hug my mom, give her a kiss, and send her off to work.

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There stands he whose voice has revealed just how beaten he’s become. She wore him down. But she was disappointed. She didn’t want that to happen. He had already beaten her with broken promises and unmet expectations.

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I used to hate coming here. I don’t anymore.

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“I knew you would like it,” said my little brother. I really, really like this book – so much that as I finished reading it, I had a very strong urge to write a paper about it. Maybe I should’ve studied literature?

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My mind can only function in pieces and fragments right now. I haven’t been able to work for the past while because I haven’t been able to form coherent thoughts. Just parts of a whole. Not even parts of one whole.

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I haven’t reached the state of vulnerability I’d wanted to achieve with this blog. I still censor myself quite a bit.

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It’s really nice to be reminded of just how fucking awesome your mom is.

End, Memory Thirty One.

Next Week: I don’t know just yet.

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