I expect her, still, in the mirror, she doesn’t say. In the light of day, those memories had and had not felt like her own— the lines blur, where she draws the separation. Birthed two children. A body that remembers only one. A body that is her own, to do with as she will, to live as she will,
to alter as she will. Well, and small wonder that she should have for so long found the idea of binding one’s sense of self to being a rifter distasteful. What, one might as well ask, exactly sense of self is that?
“I know myself in the thought that there will be halls in which it plays well for me,” she says, a touch more wry. “The ego, you understand,” he understands, “of the lengths to which I will go to have what is had here.”
All the ways in which she is underestimated and it terrifies her to risk making any of them real, but of course, it isn’t even difficult to envision the ways she can make this work for her if she wishes to. Only if she thinks on it, as she has done, beyond that first moment, where entirely unlike herself she had spoken wholly without thinking at all.
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to alter as she will. Well, and small wonder that she should have for so long found the idea of binding one’s sense of self to being a rifter distasteful. What, one might as well ask, exactly sense of self is that?
“I know myself in the thought that there will be halls in which it plays well for me,” she says, a touch more wry. “The ego, you understand,” he understands, “of the lengths to which I will go to have what is had here.”
All the ways in which she is underestimated and it terrifies her to risk making any of them real, but of course, it isn’t even difficult to envision the ways she can make this work for her if she wishes to. Only if she thinks on it, as she has done, beyond that first moment, where entirely unlike herself she had spoken wholly without thinking at all.