Visit the dead, bury the sick. I produced this tangled axiom the other day without thinking.
Bret said: 'Write about the things you’d write about if no one would read
it' … Where to begin?
That's obvious: The legs splayed out casually, of course, the night we came back from the hospital, the rocking chair pushed closer to the TV, the studied lightness of his demeanor.
That's obvious: The legs splayed out casually, of course, the night we came back from the hospital, the rocking chair pushed closer to the TV, the studied lightness of his demeanor.
'Maybe everything is OK,' I thought. 'He’s here, watching
TV with us, as if nothing is wrong.'
Lost diary entry
