Abandon Me: Memoirs

an animal has its nature, and faith to that nature is righteous. They do not promise ease nor redemption. To the faithful, to those who heed their own selves, both stories carry only the promise of being recognized for whom you are and taken home.

All we knew was our empty home. Our mother’s despair.

We coo at pregnant bellies, sanctify that most blatant acknowledgement of sex, but shame this ephemeral evidence.

love that great always includes blind spots.

That is the endless pleasure and frustration of the writer and the lover: to reach and reach and never become.

a desire not to be left.

Writing was the obvious choice. But music was the shortcut.

My body has always given me away. Or maybe it’s the other way around.

It is hard to care rightly for someone you fear losing.