The Time Traveler's Wife.

I am sure many of you have read the Time Traveler’s Wife. I absolutely love that book. There is this heartbreakingly beautiful paragraph in the novel, which remains my favourite indefinitely.

Here goes:

"Our life together in this too-small apartment is punctuated by Henry's small absences. Sometimes he disappears unobtrusively; I might be walking from the kitchen into the hall and find a pile of clothing on the floor. I might get out of bed in the morning and find the shower running and no one in it. Sometimes it's frightening. I am working in my studio one afternoon when I hear someone moaning outside my door; when I open it I find Henry on his hands and knees, naked, in the hall, bleeding heavily from his head. He opens his eyes, sees me, and vanishes. Sometimes I wake up in the night and Henry is gone. In the morning he will tell me where he's been, the way other husbands might tell their wives a dream they had: "I was in the Selzer Library in the dark, in 1989." Or: "I was chased by a German shepherd across somebody's backyard and had to climb a tree." Or: "I was standing in the rain near my parents' apartment, listening to my mother sing." I am waiting for Henry to tell me that he has seen me as a child, but so far this hasn't happened. When I was a child I looked forward to seeing Henry. Every visit was an event. Now every absence is a nonevent, a subtraction, an adventure I will hear about when my adventurer materializes at my feet, bleeding or whistling, smiling or shaking. Now I am afraid when he is gone".

 Only very recently, I said to someone that I wish someone would wait for me ( as I drift a lot, in my mind and moves. I have been drifting since I was 12 years old but more about that later) - in reference to the Traveler's wife, however, that person was ignorantly oblivious to what I was on about ( this happens often a lot to me i.e. people are clueless to what I am on about ) and well that was it really. The story of Claire and Henry often reminds me of myself as I am a diametrical thinker. Everything is the end of the world for me. I have no sense of moderation whatsoever. Often in life, I have been extreme and intense and people see that as a sort of affection in me but for me it's just the way I think and that is a fault in itself. Essentially moderation, finding a middle ground, being balance in life is extremely crucial. Anyhow, going back to TV, the similarity, I found was that everyone in the story love with such a passion where there is no middle ground, no growing in love, no loving and losing etc etc. It's all very dramatic and intense ( as yours truly ). Indubitably, it is the absolute genius of the talent of the literary skill of Ms N, who is such a remarkable writer.

I suppose I could also post this para as I am feeling somewhat demure and my luck is blowing raspberries at me for being over ambitious and over optimistic.

 So here goes

"Clare, I want to tell you, again, I love you. Our love has been the thread through the labyrinth, the net under the high-wire walker, the only real thing in this strange life of mine that I could ever trust. Tonight I feel that my love for you has more density in this world than I do, myself: as though it could linger on after me and surround you, keep you, hold you".

Ah am such a soppy romantic deep down. Through and through. I guess being born with a hint of optimism has made me a helplessly hopeful person in life. Kind of cute though. Only if that fuckball didn’t come up with such a smartass, ingenious, totally cocky proposal, everything would have been fine. But he had to fucking spoil it. Fuck him.