Raven
@Raveneanias
Kendi halinde kendince kitaplarına âşık bir okurum sadece
Edmond Jabes'in dediği gibi: Umut belki de gelecek sayfadadır. Kapatma kitabı.
In libris libertas
Afterward I waited for the guilt to come, the compulsion to beg Richard’s phantom for forgiveness. But for once, when I most expected to open my eyes and find him standing over me, he declined to show himself. Instead the silhouette I saw on the wall belonged, inexplicably, to James—who had no business in that room, in my thoughts, at that moment. Anger rushed through me, but before it went to my head Meredith moved, nestled closer, interrupted the illusion. I exhaled, relieved to think she’d woken me from some disturbed half dream. I let my fingertips trail from the tip of her shoulder to the smooth inward curve of her waist, comforted by how soft and feminine she was. Her head rested on my chest, and I wondered if she felt the fleeting stillness of my fitful, troubled soul.
Unable (as always) to find the words to express my own belated understanding, I said nothing.
“We cracked up,” I say, but the phrase feels wrong. It was not so simple, or so clean, as a piece of fractured glass. “But we didn’t really shatter until we were all back together again.”
Colborne nods vaguely. Then his expression changes, shifts, brow furrowing. “Do you blame Shakespeare for any of it?”
The question is so unlikely, so nonsensical coming from such a sensible man, that I can’t suppress a smile. “I blame him for all of it,” I say.
I walk down the dock and Colborne follows, one step behind. I know I owe him a new ending for our old story, but I find it unexpectedly difficult to continue. Up until Christmas, we could pretend that we were mostly all right—or that we would be, someday.