all the ways my mind has been stunted in its growth, away from what is possible and towards what is expected, has resulted in hard lines between fiction and non-fiction, reality and unreality. I’ve played with crossing this line in my media consumption but rarely in my own life. why don’t we all do what Li does when we grieve? again and again she finds herself beholden to time, days, the limitations of vocabulary, but she still stays. how? I wish I could see the other side of history. I’m so glad that I get to be alive even for a few short decades. it is beautiful that I can love people and lose them and be with them in my mind. I wish that I didn’t reside so comfortably in my own intellectual ruts, not with all this life in there.