What do we do with the fragments of writing (self) that never found a whole to belong to, that didn’t assemble a recognizable whole around them? Fragments that stay fragments. As if excised from something unknowable. The essay fragment below is one of my favorite things I’ve written. It’s related to my book
Hilary your final sentences always drive a stake of love through my heart
Oh this is fantastic. I might need you to write the book