mánudagur, júlí 31, 2006


Then there is that other thing, when the three lowest ribs on each side spring loose from your sternum and flail outward like desperate fingers or the arms of a magnificent crab. Your jaw drops open in sympathy and surprise, and you look about yourself in the impossible hope that your eye will fall on something you could seize with both hands and stuff into that horrible gape to keep your lights and vitals from dropping out.

That you would never have imagined on any summer evening, however crushingly beautiful.

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