Naomi’s Room

Some people can’t bear to throw things out, even guilty secrets.

I held my breath each time feet sounded on the stairs outside my room. But they passed by and I was left alone with my beating heart.

Each stage in those events represented some form of loss: a loss of love or faith or self-respect. But innocence is like trust: once gone, it can never be restored.

except for his eyes. I can still remember them, their blueness, their acuity, their hoodedness. He kept something buried beneath them, buried very deep yet at times visible if you knew what you were looking for.

The dead do not refuse to die, they are willing accomplices in their own disposal.

You should understand
How a soul that has been ravished
Feels not the agony of death, and yet it dies . . .

We are all fools, we betray ourselves for such small reasons.