Sublime

I like writing that is unsummarizable, a kernel that cannot be condensed, that must be uttered exactly as it is.

It isn’t so much that geniuses make it look easy; it’s that they make it look fast.

I don’t love writing; I love having a problem I believe I might someday write my way out of.

The air outside rumbles as planes lift into the sky, while inside garbled announcements blare over the loudspeaker. Somewhere behind me, an older woman speaks in sharp, staccato Italian. But I don’t look away from the curb, my eyes trained on the crowded sidewalk outside the terminal, searching for her, anchoring my belief—and my entire future—on t