whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss — we want more and more and then more of it.But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deepfor my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:I am living. I remember you. —Marie Howe
