Quote

I breathe slowly and deeply. I make my eyes still under eyelids, I make my mind still, and soon, Sleep, seeing a perfect reproduction of himself, comes to be united with his facsimile.

Audrey Niffenegger

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Audrey Niffenegger
Age: 61
Born: 1963
Born: June 13
Artist
Author
Novelist
Poet
Science Fiction Writer
University Teacher
Visual Artist
Writer
South Haven
Michigan
Still
Seeing
Mind
Sleep
Facsimile
Make
Eyes
Eyelids
Eye
Reproduction
Perfect
Slowly
United
Deeply
Comes
Breathe
Stills
Soon

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absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird
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When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise.
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The engagement ring is an emerald, and the dim light from the window is refracted green and white in it. The rings are silver, and they need cleaning. They need wearing, and I know just the girl to wear them.
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And Clare, always Clare.
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Maybe I'm dreaming you. Maybe you're dreaming me maybe we only exist in each other's dreams and every morning when we wake up we forget all about each other.
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Think for a minute, darling: in fairy tales it's always the children who have the fine adventures. The mothers have to stay at home and wait for the children to fly in the window.
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I wish for a moment that time would lift me out of this day, and into some more benign one. But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say I'm sorry until it is as meaningless air.
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I told Ing once that she dances like a German and she didn't like it, but it's true: she dances seriously, like lives are hanging in the balance, like precision dancing can save the starving children of India.
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My reflection in the mirror shows me pink and puffy. I thought pregnant women were to supposed to glow. I am not glowing.
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Home sweet home. No place like home. Take me home, country roads. Home is where the heart is. But my heart is here. So I must be home. Clare sighs, turns her head, and is quiet. Hi, honey. I'm home. I'm home.
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Everything seems simple until you think about it.
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we both smile and we are conspirators.
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Time passes and the pain begins to roll in and out as though it’s a woman standing at an ironing board, passing the iron back and forth, back and forth across a white tablecloth.
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That's what alcoholics do. It's in their job description: fall apart and then keep falling apart.
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Running is many things to me: survival, calmness, euphoria, solitude. It is proof of my corporeal existence, my ability to control my movement through space if not time, and the obedience, however temporary, of my body to my will. As I run I displace air, and things come and go around me, and the path moves like a filmstrip beneath my feet.
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Sometimes I'm happy when he's gone, but I'm always happy when he returns. -Clare
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What is more basic than the need to be known? It is the entirety of intimacy, the elixir of love, this knowing.
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It's hard being left behind. (...) It's hard to be the one who stays.
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When it's over you look up: the world looks the same but you are somehow different and that feeling lingers for days.
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