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She was like a lone angel floating above the surface of the earth, laughing with delight because she could fly but crying out of loneliness.

Markus Zusak

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Markus Zusak
Age: 49
Born: 1975
Born: January 1
Novelist
Writer
Sydney
NSW
Delight
Surface
Angel
Cry
Laughing
Lone
Earth
Floating
Like
Crying
Loneliness

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If her soul ever leaks, I want it to land on me.
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I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.
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I watch the beauty for as long as I can, then turn and face the rest of it.
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The day was gray, the color of Europe.
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The first couple of times, he simply stayed - a stranger to kill the aloneness. A few nights after that, he whispered “Shhh, I’m here, its alright.” After three weeks, he held her. Trust was accumulated quickly, due primarily to the brute strength of the man’s gentleness, his thereness.
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He does something to me, that boy. Every time. It’s his only detriment. He steps on my heart. He makes me cry.
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She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.
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The silence was always the greates temptation.
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Everything was good. But it was awful, too.
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I realize that nothing belongs to her anymore and she belongs to everything.
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The impoverished always try to keep moving, as if relocating might help. They ignore the reality that a new version of the same old problem will be waiting at the end of the trip- the relative you cringe to kiss.
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A happening was looming. It was out there somewhere beyond the regular enclosed life that I had been living. It was out there, not waiting, but existing. Being. Perhaps it was only slightly wondering if I would come to it.
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There are moments when you can only stand and stare, watching the world forget you as you remove yourself from it - when you overcome it and cease to exist as the person you were.
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Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.
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