“Death has many pieces. At the very end, our lives fractured, and the shards swam away to where they belonged. The still-living carry those parts around with them: kind words and gentle skin-touches and sweet, sweet tears. The best parts of us are elsewhere, spread out across the land in a fine mist of memory. Our voices are the last thrumming of an insect's wing on a web. All that lodges here is the shape of our ending.”
Book:Falling Animals