The dead have a long reach. And they can be patient. They wait till you are ready, and then they seep back into your heart and crack it open. They pour out of the tissue where you’ve hidden them away and insist on being known again. Depty Dawg had come back without warning two months ago, in early September 2002. In eight short weeks I’ve gone from being a menopausal skeptic about love, to a hormone-drenched teenager who believes in ghosts, who waits at night for one to visit her. Where once I prided myself on selfknowledge a contradiction at best now I stumble blind through memory and grief, astonished to find myself jealous of rivals I never knew, for the heart of a man who’s been dead thirteen years. [download]
Format : Ebook.Pdf
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