Confession: I’ve been waiting for this day to come.

You will only be hurt a finite number of times during your life. You have an infinite number of ways to deal with it.’

I hate/ love that I am going away tomorrow.
It’s Queensland, my somewhat second home in that little unit we call ours.
But it’s also the first week of holidays, there is so much I want to do at home.
I suppose that can wait.

These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence:
the connections – sometimestenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent – that happened after I was gone.
And I began to see things in a way that let me hold the world without me in it.
The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future. The price of what I came to see as this miraculous body had been my life



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