“Good as always,” he said over his shoulder. “Always,” I repeated
“Look past the fence—there—those purple flowers. […] These will be perfect on our windowsill.” […] It was beauty, I learned, that we risked ourselves for.
“What’s good?” […] a precious spark we sought and harvested of and for one another.
“maybe all names are illusions. How often do we name something after its briefest form?”
–Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous: A Novel
