the gathering, by anne enright

This made me swoon:

But it is not just the sex, or remembered sex, that makes me think I love Michael Weiss from Brooklyn, now, seventeen years too late. It is the way he refused to own me, no matter how much I tried to be owned. It was the way he would not take me, he would only meet me, and that only ever halfway.

Stopping now, I promise! I only just figured out where Amazon keeps my Kindle highlights, so I worked through a little backlog there :)

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