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Every breath, every heartbeat, was one less until maybe things stopped hurting this much.
Jenny Downham
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Jenny Downham
Age: 60
Born: 1964
Born: January 1
Actor
Author
Film Actor
Novelist
Writer
Inner and Outer London
Hurt
Maybe
Less
Much
Heartbeat
Every
Hurting
Things
Stopped
Breath
Breaths
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I made a fatal error thinking he could save me.
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I can see inside planes!' he yells. 'Come and look!' It's difficult climbing in a mini dress...I haul myself up even though my arms ache. I want to see inside planes too. I want to watch the wind and catch birds in my fist.
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I shrug him off. 'Can't you just go away? There's a moment. It has a sound in it, as if something very small got broken.
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I want to die in my own way. It's my illness, my death, my choice. This is what saying yes means.
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Her skin tasted expensive.
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I miss him as soon as he goes. When he isn't with me, I think I made him up.
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I said I wouldn't leave her.
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Parents don't know their children at all. No one knows anyone, in fact.
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I'm me and you're you, and all of them out there are them. And we're all so different and equally unimportant.
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If you want a girl to like you, you have to listen like a woman and love like a man.
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It's as if a child with a brush and too much enthusiasm has been set free with a tin of black paint inside me.
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Perhaps I'm dead. Perhaps this is all it will be. The living will carry on in their world – touching, walking. And I'll continue in this empty world, tapping soundlessly on the glass between us.
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I want you to be with me in the dark. To hold me. To keep loving me. To help me when I get scared. To come right to the edge and see what's there.
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Adam strokes my head, my face, he kisses my tears. We are blessed. Let them all go. The sound of a bird flying low across the garden. Then nothing. Nothing. A cloud passes. Nothing again. Light falls through the window, falls onto me, into me. Moments. All gathering towards this one.
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Keep breathing. Just keep doing it. It's easy. In and out.
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It hurts and hurts to have him this close. I feel sick with it.
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Every few years we disappear, Zoey. All our cells are replaced by others. Not a single bit of me is the same as when I was last in this room.
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She needed food. Diets didn't count in a crisis.
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She'd never in her whole life bunked school, smoked dope, or kissed a boy whose name she didn't know, and yet in the last few days, she'd done all these things.
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She'll understand what I already know - that death surrounds us all. And it tastes like metal between your teeth.
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