mind status: open
"My brother and I used to play a game. I’d point to a chair.
“THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,” I’d say.
Bird would point to the table.
“THIS IS NOT A TABLE.”
“THIS IS NOT A WALL,” I’d say.
“THAT IS NOT A CEILING.”
We’d go on like that.
“IT IS NOT RAINING OUT.”
“MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!” Bird would yell.
I’d point to my elbow.
“THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE!”
“THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!”
“NOT A CUP!”
“NOT A SPOON!”
“NOT DIRTY DISHES!”
We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: “I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!”
“But you’re only seven,” I said."
— The History of Love by Nicole Krauss
“THIS IS NOT A CHAIR,” I’d say.
Bird would point to the table.
“THIS IS NOT A TABLE.”
“THIS IS NOT A WALL,” I’d say.
“THAT IS NOT A CEILING.”
We’d go on like that.
“IT IS NOT RAINING OUT.”
“MY SHOE IS NOT UNTIED!” Bird would yell.
I’d point to my elbow.
“THIS IS NOT A SCRAPE!”
“THAT IS NOT A KETTLE!”
“NOT A CUP!”
“NOT A SPOON!”
“NOT DIRTY DISHES!”
We denied whole rooms, years, weathers. Once, at the peak of our shouting, Bird took a deep breath. At the top of his lungs, he shrieked: “I! HAVE NOT! BEEN! UNHAPPY! MY WHOLE! LIFE!”
“But you’re only seven,” I said."
