"what was once before you – an exciting, mysterious future – is now behind you. lived; understood; disappointing. you realize you are not special. you have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. this is everyone’s experience. every single one. the specifics hardly matter. everyone’s everyone. so you are adele, hazel, claire, olive. you are ellen. all her meager sadnesses are yours; all her loneliness; the gray, straw-like hair; her red raw hands. it’s yours. it is time for you to understand this.
as the people who adore you stop adoring you; as they die; as they move on; as you shed them; as you shed your beauty; your youth; as the world forgets you; as you recognize your transience; as you begin to lose your characteristics one by one; as you learn there is no-one watching you, and there never was, you think only about driving – not coming from any place; not arriving any place. just driving, counting off time. now you are here, at 7:43. now you are here, at 7:44. now you are…
"I am wearing dark glasses inside the house
To match my dark mood.
I have left all the sugar out of the pie.
My rage is a kind of domestic rage.
I learned it from my mother
Who learned it from her mother before her
And so on.
Surely the Greeks had a word for this.
Now surely the Germans do.
The more words a person knows
To describe her private sufferings
The more distantly she can perceive them.
I repeat the names of all the cities I’ve known
And watch an ant drag its crooked shadow home.
What does it mean to love the life we’ve been given?
To act well the part that’s been cast for us?
Wind. Light. Fire. Time.
A train whistles through the far hills.
One day I plan to be riding it."