you can call me boots.

"The day my father died was the day I started falling in love. Love like the wet open love of a newborn. Love outside the body. Love like a metaphor for love. I am trying to understand how that day shook loose all this dangerous insatiable love. I was eighteen, six months from leaving home for good. My father stood at the top of the attic staircase; his body seized and fell and stilled and left behind such stunning grief that for weeks I tottered through the house on autopilot, a pill bottle rattling in my pocket, wide-eyed and gob smacked with love. I hit walls, turned, and shuffled off in the opposite direction until another wall intercepted my path. I was suddenly and irrevocably wracked with love."