Read this sentence this morning and am mulling it over–from And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos:

What I did not know when I was very young was that nothing can take the past away: the past grows gradually around one, like a placenta for the dying.

Yes. Whether you recall the past or not is another issue, but as it existed it cannot unexist. It has happened and cannot unhappen. Bringing to mind, of course, that actions have potential consequences, potential outcomes. Perhaps this is why writing has appeal–in that one has control over actions and consequences?

The phrase “like a placenta for the dying” is perfection.

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