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We hit the sidewalk, and dropped hands. How I wished, right then, that the whole world was a street.
Aimee Bender
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Aimee Bender
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: June 28
Novelist
Writer
the United States of America
World
Sidewalk
Wished
Dropped
Street
Streets
Hands
Whole
Right
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I am the drying meadow you the unspoken apology he is the fluctuating distance between mother and son she is the first gesture that creates a quiet that is full enough to make the baby sleep. My genes, my love, are rubber bands and rope make yourself a structure you can live inside. Amen.
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You can ruin anything if you focus at it.
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…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.
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The writing I tend to think of as 'good' is good because it's mysterious.
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With my hand in his, I looked at all the apartment buildings with rushes of love, peering in the wide streetside windows that revealed living rooms painted in dark burgandies and matte reds.
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But what I kept wondering about is this: that first second when she felt her skirt burning, what did she think? Before she knew it was candles, did she think she'd done it herself? With the amazing turns of her hips, and the warmth of the music inside her, did she believe, for even one glorious second, that her passion had arrived?
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I watched as she added a question mark at the end. Arc, line, space, dot.
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There's a gift in your lap and it's beautifully wrapped and it's not your birthday. You feel wonderful, you feel like somebody knows you're alive, you feel fear because it could be a bomb, because you think you're that important.
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I could feel the tears beginning to collect in my throat again, but I pushed them apart, away from each other. Tears are only a threat in groups.
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But the sky is interesting, it changes all the time.
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While she cut the mushrooms, she cried more than she had at the grave, the most so far, because she found the saddest thing of all to be the simple truth of her capacity to move on.
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Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.
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I was right at the edge of their circle, like the tail of a Q...
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It is so often surprising, who rescues you at your lowest moments.
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I admired that stride it was like he folded space in two with it.
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As a writer you ask yourself to dream while awake.
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I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.
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Many kids, it seemed, would find out that their parents were flawed, messed-up people later in life, and I didn't appreciate getting to know it all so strong and early.
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I felt the crumpled paper that had taken the place of my lungs expand as if released from a fist.
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It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.
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