Arthur Golden

Was life nothing more than a storm that constantly washed away what had been there only a moment before, and left behind something barren and unrecognizable?

With all this water and all this wood, the two of them ought to have made a good balance and produced children with the proper arrangement of elements.

If a few minutes of suffering could make me so angry, what would years of it do? Even stone can be worn down with enough rain.

Just as seaweed is naturally soggy, you see, but turns brittle as it dries, my mother was giving up more and more of her essence.

“It wouldn’t have been a clever thing to say otherwise.