The only reason I have lived so long is that I let go of my past.
Shut the door on grief on regret on remorse. If I let them in, just one
self-indulgent crack, whap, the door will fling open gales of pain
ripping through my heart blinding my eyes with shame breaking cups and
bottles knocking down jars shattering windows stumbling bloody on
spilled sugar and broken glass terrified gagging until with a final
shudder and sob I shut the heavy door. Pick up the pieces one more
time.
―
Lucia Berlin,
A Manual for Cleaning Women: Selected Stories
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