“ Mathilde and Lotto held hands in the taxi going to brunch, communicating, not speaking. ”
In the end, fiction is the craft of telling truth through lies.
~ Lauren Groff
But my best friend from college was silent for a long time. She, of all of my friends, had seen the parade of sad wrecks through my life, date after bad date after bad boyfriend. She was the one who'd picked up the pieces after the musician, the investment banker, the humanitarian who was human to everyone but me.When at last she spoke, she said, Oh, hell.And, after that: Hallelujah.
Perhaps living in fear can drive all devils out of a person.
Depressing thought: my friends were the girls I ate lunch with, all buddies from kindergarten who knew one another so well we weren't sure if we even liked one another anymore.
