Very VeryKim Roberts
What was I? I was extremely something, utterly one thing. I was writing about it in a diary or a letter, the exact details drawn down some distant, final plumbing, and as I rumbled with joyful repetition, so in love with the fullness of it, I discovered how a simple word, a word in wild multiples, could lose itself and become mere symbol, and then lose that. What it was I was so very turned to surprise--I remember that-- the ordinary made foreign: more, made wrong. And I wasn’t so so anymore. What happened? It was a mystery, a diminishing. A failure of words.
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