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My chest aches when I look at him. He is such a precious thing, this son of mine. I love the fact that his spirit sends him careering off into an unfamiliar garden. I cannot take my wife's fears seriously. We always let him run about the garden at the house in the capital, and he knows better than to approach lakes here or there. He is a child, I think rebelliously. He should be allowed to run around, to have fun, to live. To live, as opposed to what? To not live, to merely survive, lost in the despair of adulthood.
I feel strangely free at such times. To behave properly is to be always courteous, always clever and subtle and elegant. But now, when I am so alone, I do not have to be any of these things. For this moment, I am wholly myself, unshaped by the needs of others, by their dreams or expectations or sensibilities.
But I am also lonely. With no one to shape me, who stands here, watching the moon, or the stars, or the clouds? I feel insubstantial, as if the wind might suddenly dissolve me, like a weak mist.
Tealeaf said:Remembered a few poignant quotes from my favorite book.
Kij Johnson, The Fox Woman
Aisha said:Tealeaf said:Remembered a few poignant quotes from my favorite book.
Kij Johnson, The Fox Woman
Those are beautiful quotes that will resonate with many people. I will definitely read that book sometime, just because of those quotes. If it has that sort of poetic prose, what's not to like?
Solivagant said:
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