Besides bingeing on Iron and Wine like some sad fuck, I've become slightly obsessed with The History of Love by Nicole Krauss. It's my second read of the novel, and I've found myself thinking about it everyday, at the oddest times. It's one of those books that makes you want to endlessly write about everything and nothing, even if you're a lousy writer. I'll leave you with some quotes from the book:
"If at large gatherings or parties, or around people with whom you feel distant, your hands sometimes hang awkwardly at the ends of your arms--if you find yourself at a loss for what to do with them, overcome with sadness that comes when you recognize the foreignness of your own body--it's because your hands remember a time when the division between mind and body, brain and heart, what's inside and what's outside, was so much less."
[this section is concerning the subject of angels, when they are alone or wanting to be alone]:
BEING ALONE. Like the living, angels sometimes get tired of each other and want to be alone. Because the houses they live in are crowded, and there's nowhere to go, the only thing an angel can do at such moments is shut his eyes and put his head down on his arms. When an angel does this, the others understand that he is trying to fool himself into feeling alone, and they tiptoe around him. To help things along, they might talk about him as if he weren't there. If they happen to bump into him by accident, they whisper: 'it wasn't me.'
"I remember the first time I realized I could make myself see something that wasn't there. I was ten years old, walking home from school. Some boys from my class ran by shouting and laughing. I wanted to be like them. And yet. I didn't know how. I'd always felt different from the others, and the difference hurt. And then I turned the corner and saw it. A huge elephant, standing alone in the square. I knew I was imagining it.
And yet. I wanted to believe.
So I tried.
And I found I could."
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