It’s the art of finding out everything you wanted to know. It’s the art of getting everything you wanted from me. It’s the art of laying low, Leave all your friends wondering where you’ve been. It’s the art of letting me down, And you perfected that.
"About her neck are gathered all the aches and sorrows of the day. The pressures. The tiny scars. The minutes wounds. Pains. They all rise to the center of her head. A balloon expanding up and behind her eyes. She refuses to let it push through. Mabel is afraid. So she sits. Trying hard to push back the throbbing. To keep that hoard of hurts behind her face. One slips through. Hot. Another. And another. Until like a broken damn. A cracked dike. She weeps. Sobs. So relieved. Mabel is finally crying. Mabel collapses in the seat. Closes her eyes. Mabel has wanted to cry for so long."
"The Strange and Tragic Ballad of Mabel Pearsall"- Randall Kenan
(reading Let the Dead Bury Their Dead in my english class)