"He might also write a letter to Amy and explain to her that he was not weird, that he was a survivor (...) Someone who had made it through one winter and maybe had another two or three left in him before he would put up his hands and say, "Ok, enough, I submit, I can't take it anymore." "
1. The thing that does not translate easily is the feeling of constructing myself every single morning. After a dark night that caresses me with cold fingers and destroys everything I could have believed the day after.
2. My language means Christmas. Means winter. Means cold. I-usually-loved-christmas. (The last words came from the dead little girl who is disintegratinginside me.)
3. My language is getting stuck in my mind, and I'm trying to race around my brain collecting the pieces of everything-I've-been-and-I'm-not-anymore.
4. When was the forgetting started?