Mark's Pages
September 16, 2003:
Pain, astonishment. More disorientation than disbelief, because it comes so sharply out of thin air.
To write and to have every sentence spill from the pen perfectly formed.
Back against the seawall, spray from breakers replenishing the tide pools. Sailboats, contentment, the length of the pier.
Tourists and locals. Marines and girls. Trotsky and a notebook. Jet noise and the great voice of the surf.
Feeling replenished in the surf.
How much of her defensiveness and hostility come from your intolerance?
You have to admire the simplicity of her desires.
The breakthrough, of sorts, is that we've quarrelled without threatening to break up.