Then came a time I can hardly describe, a section underground. A bird trapped in a sewer, wings beating… — Janet Fitch
Then came a time I can hardly describe, a section underground. A bird trapped in a sewer, wings beating against the ceiling in that dark wet place, while the city rumbled on overhead. Her name was Lost. Her name was Nobody's Daughter.
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More from this book
I had already seen more of the world, its beauty and misery and sheer surprise, than they could hope or fear to perceive.
This was an artist's stare, attentive to detail, taking in the truth without preconceptions. It was a stare that didn't turn away when I stared back, but was startled to find itself returned.
Without my wounds, who was I? My scars were my face, my past was my life. It wasn't like I didn't know where all this remembering got you, all that hunger for beauty and astonishing cruelty and ever-present-loss.
