In our own beginnings, we are formed out of the body’s interior landscape. For a short while, our mothers’ bodies are the boundaries and the passageways to our own.
I write because I am alone and move through the world alone. No one will know what has passed through me… I write because there are stories that people have forgotten to tell.
If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next—if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions—you’d be doomed.
