D E L I R I U Mtrilogy: locations → T h e W i l d s
Trees close in around us, l e a v e s and b u s h e s press on me from all sides, brushing my face and shins and shoulders like t h o u s a n d s of dark hands, and from all around me a strange cacophony starts up, of fluttering things and owls hooting and animals scrabbling in the underbrush. The air smells so thickly of flowers and life it feels t e x t u r e d, like a curtain you could pull apart.
Maybe it would be better if we didn’t love. If we didn’t lose either. If we didn’t get our hearts stomped on, shattered: if we didn’t have to patch and repatch until we’re like Frankenstein monsters, all sewn together and bound up by who knows what. If we could just float along, like snow.
D E L I R I U Mtrilogy: locations → Back Cove, East End Beach
My sister used to stay on the s h o r e and build sand c a s t l e s, and we would pretend that they were real cities, like we’d s w u m all the way to the other side of the world, to the u n c u r e d places.
D E L I R I U Mtrilogy: locations → 3 7 B r o o k s
The best part of 37 Brooks is the garden in the back. An enormous overgrown lawn winds between ancient trees, so thick andgnarled and knotted their arms twist overhead and form a canopy. The sunlight filters through the trees and spots the grass a pale white.
But somehow it’s not gross or frightening. Somehow it’s kind of nice, and it makes me think of woods and endless cycles of growth and death and regrowth -like what we’re really hearing is the house folding down around us, centimeter by centimeter.
And now I know why they invented words for love, why they had to: It’s the only thing that can come close to describing what I feel in that moment, the baffling mixture of pain and pleasure and fear and joy, all running sharply through me at once.