There was no rage.
There was no anger.
There was no outburst.
Only the profound pain of loss lingered; the ultimate theft of love, heart, and adoration.
They were broken.
"And must I not conceal myself like someone who has swallowed gold – so that they do not slit open my soul?
Must I not wear stilts so that they overlook my long legs – all these plain jealous and pain zealous who surround me?
These smoky, room-temperature, used up, greened-out, grief ridden souls – how could their envy bear my happiness!
And so I show them only the ice and the winter on my peaks – and not that my mountain winds all the belts of the sun around itself!
They hear only my winter storms whistling, and not that I also glide over warm seas like longing, heavy, sultry south winds.
They still have mercy on my accidents and coincidences: but my words say: 'Let accident come to me: it is innocent, like a little child!'
How could they bear my happiness if I did not cover my happiness with accidents and winter emergencies and polar bear caps and snow-sky sheets?
It is the wise mischief and benevolence of my soul that it does not conceal its winter and its ice storms; nor does it conceal its frostbites.
One person’s loneliness is the escape of the sick; another’s loneliness is the escape from the sick."
On the Mount of OlivesKitabı okuyor
Then, CJ noticed something that he hadn’t initially: not everyone was crying.
He didn’t even know Donnie’s name, but that didn’t stop him from being astonished. To see the child who appeared to be the youngest of them all, somehow strong enough to hold in his pain gave CJ hope.
“She loved you. She had two visions of how this would all go. One ended with you loving her as much as she loves you, and you’d stand by her no matter what, feel her pain as if it was your own. Unfortunately, you chose option number two, proving me right, even though I desperately wanted you to prove me wrong.”
