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absence can be present, like a damaged nerve, like a dark bird

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
Like
Damaged
Nerve
Nerves
Absence
Bird
Present
Dark

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When we met I was wrecked, blasted, and damned, and I am slowly pulling myself together because I can see that you are a human being and I would like to be one, too.
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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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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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I hate to be where she is not, when she is not. And yet, I am always going. - Henry deTamble
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I never understood why Clark Kent was so hell bent on keeping Lois Lane in the dark.
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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 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.
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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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We are often insane with happiness. We are also very unhappy for reasons neither of us can do anything about. Like being separated.
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…she smiles in an exhausted but warm sort of way, as though she is a brilliant sun in some other galaxy
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He thanked her and left the house in the mood of a shipwrecked man who has allowed the rescue ship to pass him by.
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Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust.
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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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Mama said, Dreams are different to real life but important too.
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I look at him, look at the book, remember, this book, this moment, the first book I ever loved
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Everything seems simple until you think about it.
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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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I've noticed that Henry needs an incredible amount of physical activity all the time in order to be happy. It's like hanging out with a greyhound.
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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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When the woman you live with is an artist, every day is a surprise.
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