Francisco X. Stork

My father looks at me the way he is looking at my mother in one of their wedding pictures: like he can’t believe that she is with him now and will be with him forever, that she has chosen to be with him out of all the men in the known world.

My father looks at me the way he is looking at my mother in one of their wedding pictures: like he can’t believe that she is with him now and will be with him forever, that she has chosen to be with him out of all the men in the known world.

– Francisco X. Stork –

The Memory of Light

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Patrick White

She would have liked to love. It was terrible to think she had never loved her son as a man. Sometimes her hands would wrestle together. They were supple, rather plump hands, broad and not yet dry. But wrestling like this together, they were papery and dried-up. Then she would force herself into some deliberate activity or speak tenderly to her good husband, offering him things to eat, and seeing to his clothes. She loved her husband. Even after the drudgery of love she could still love him. But sometimes she lay on her side and said, I have not loved him enough, not yet, he has not seen the evidence of love. It would have been simpler if she had been able to turn and point to the man their son, but she could not.

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