“Maybe I had miscalculated what was left of my life. Maybe it wasn’t loose change. Or, actually, the whole thing was loose change, from start to finish—many, many little moments…each new year unbearably repetitive and yet somehow always new. You could never buy anything with it, you could never casi it in for something more valuable or more whole. It was just all these days, held together only by the fragile memory of one person—or, if you were lucky, two. And because of this, this lack of inherent meaning or value, it was stunning…It dared to mean nothing and so demanded everything of you.” From Miranda July’s It Chooses You (this book is killing me)
