Fiction | July 25, 2017
Joy
“Of course—a Talmudic joke: we don’t know when we’re going to die, so it’s today you should repent. In my case, I do know—well, I know approximately. And I’m not repenting, Doctor. I simply need you to be clever enough, objective enough, to help me gather together the pieces of my life. Not that I can bring the awareness with me to another world.” She smiles. “It’s in this world I want to feel, however briefly—“ She gropes for the words—“a sense of completion. Here’s what I’ve made of myself.”
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