Books

My body was a book of rules, my heart the spine, my skin plastered with pages. Written on each one was the text that held the world together.

"Existence is this, I thought, a start of joy, a stab of pain, an intense pleasure, veins that pulse under the skin, there is no other truth to tell."

"The gangs of girls marched into where we lived like they were welcome. (And, to be fair, they had been once…) They knew from how they’d known us then where we kept what was dear to us. They knew where we hid our special secrets. "

"It would be public. It was done. I'd breathed no word to William and bade the Publishers hold their tongue. I'd return to Antwerp shortly. I would rather seek pardon there than ask permission first."

I took the package to the post office at Eleventh Street and Fourth Avenue. There was a long line because of the upcoming holidays. As I was standing in line, I saw a sign explaining what kinds of things you couldn’t send via airmail: obviously really hazardous materials like lighter fluid and firearms but also alcohol, perfume, prescription drugs, and tobacco. Hmm, perfume. But my flask was so tiny, and it was all wrapped up in the iPod cozy, plus the package was sturdy and all taped up. I couldn’t imagine the tiny vial would break open, and if it did, there were just a few drops in there—they’d surely evaporate right away. When I got up to the window, the clerk looked humorless. She weighed my parcel and looked me dead in the eye: “Any perfume in there?” I looked her dead in the eye and said no. She put the necessary postage on the package and tossed it into a bin.