I am a museum of everything I have loved.

I kept thinking about the uneven quality of time -the way it was almost always so empty, and then with no warning came a few days that felt so dense and alive and real that it seemed indisputable that that was what life was, that its real nature had finally been revealed. But then time passed and unthinkably grew dead again and it turned out that that fullness had been an aberration and might never come back.