What book or myth does say that u must severe old ties to make new ones . who says, that u need courage to move on with life? cant u just stay there, frozen?
Why does it have be this way , people walk in ....walk out ...new people walk in and nobody stays. Why on earth does 'love' exist? and if it does, why does it sink so deep , that even if u try to come out of it...u never can.
People disappear like Amelia , the pilot who went around the world and disappeared in the pacific or like those in tough love camps where ur tortured , abused and broken till u have nothing left in the inside of each molecule of ur body .
People disappear when they are dead. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. And yet what kind of magic?
“The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.”
― Jodi Picoult
Why does it have be this way , people walk in ....walk out ...new people walk in and nobody stays. Why on earth does 'love' exist? and if it does, why does it sink so deep , that even if u try to come out of it...u never can.
People disappear like Amelia , the pilot who went around the world and disappeared in the pacific or like those in tough love camps where ur tortured , abused and broken till u have nothing left in the inside of each molecule of ur body .
People disappear when they are dead. Their voice, their laughter, the warmth of their breath. Their flesh. Eventually their bones. All living memory of them ceases. This is both dreadful and natural. Yet for some there is an exception to this annihilation. For in the books they write they continue to exist. We can rediscover them. Their humor, their tone of voice, their moods. Through the written word they can anger you or make you happy. They can comfort you. They can perplex you. They can alter you. All this, even though they are dead. Like flies in amber, like corpses frozen in the ice, that which according to the laws of nature should pass away is, by the miracle of ink on paper, preserved. It is a kind of magic. And yet what kind of magic?
“The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.”
― Jodi Picoult
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