he was like the bed at a party on which they pile the coats

Posted: November 15th, 2011 | No Comments »

the best story. have read it twice, and cried weeping style throughout. READ IT.

He heard her in the entryway. Mol, Molly, oh, boy. When they were first married they used to fight. Say the most insane things. Afterward, sometimes there would be tears. Tears in bed? Somewhere. And then they would—Molly pressing her hot wet face against his hot wet face. They were sorry, they were saying with their bodies, they were accepting each other back, and that feeling, that feeling of being accepted back again and again, of someone’s affection for you always expanding to encompass whatever new flawed thing had just manifested in you, that was the deepest, dearest thing he’d ever—

— “Tenth of December,” George Saunders

Leave a Reply

You must be logged in to post a comment.