"...a floor that slides forward spilling out the contents of a room." This haunting chapter and closing line will stick with me a long time. Amazing how you cause us (me) to perhaps feel some of what Robert feels, and with empathy.
"I saw a brown finger on a door latch, the white lines in the knuckles, the rung of a ladder against a balcony, locked doors with easy catches and a floor that slides forward spilling out the contents of a room." Beautiful writing, Mary! As Kimberly said, there's so much tenderness in this chapter.
Tender vulnerability in this one. Roger continues to reveal so many complex layers to his being. Bravo for this masterful examination of grief, forgiveness, regret, shame, and deep love.
A perfect chapter, Mary! The scene in the closet, the details of noticing the colours of Lena's wardrobe for the first time, his yearning and grieving. A perfect dialogue at the end, Robert in his agony, trying to get closer but unable to do so, trying to understand why Lena isn't coming home, and all he's getting is "Robert, please."
Here I felt I was getting into the narrator's skin, head and heart.
I'm not quite sure about the final paragraph under the photo with the hand... what does it mean? Perhaps a signal towards the next chapter?
Yes, Robert's longing so much more palpable. As to the last paragraph, yes somewhat elliptical and unconscious in his mind. What I hoped to achieve there is that doors are opening for Robert with his finger on the door of discovery about Lena and himself.
I guessed that it was Robert's own finger, but in that moment wasn't sure whether it was, perhaps, a childhood memory, maybe connecting this present grief with another older wound, his own finger at a younger age...
"...a floor that slides forward spilling out the contents of a room." This haunting chapter and closing line will stick with me a long time. Amazing how you cause us (me) to perhaps feel some of what Robert feels, and with empathy.
Means so much that you say that: encourages my writing heart ...
Roberts longing... so tangible in this tender chapter Mary - fine and beautiful writing again, always your words wrap around my heart xx
And yours around mine. xx
"I saw a brown finger on a door latch, the white lines in the knuckles, the rung of a ladder against a balcony, locked doors with easy catches and a floor that slides forward spilling out the contents of a room." Beautiful writing, Mary! As Kimberly said, there's so much tenderness in this chapter.
Si glad, Jeffrey, that the last line resonated as Robert's self-discovery begin to unwind.
Tender vulnerability in this one. Roger continues to reveal so many complex layers to his being. Bravo for this masterful examination of grief, forgiveness, regret, shame, and deep love.
Robert evolves and discovers more than the mystery perhaps?
Definitely! But he’s part of that mystery for me, so it’s all beautifully entangled.
such intimacy in this little piece...
That's what it's all about -- to quote a song title, maybe?
A perfect chapter, Mary! The scene in the closet, the details of noticing the colours of Lena's wardrobe for the first time, his yearning and grieving. A perfect dialogue at the end, Robert in his agony, trying to get closer but unable to do so, trying to understand why Lena isn't coming home, and all he's getting is "Robert, please."
Here I felt I was getting into the narrator's skin, head and heart.
I'm not quite sure about the final paragraph under the photo with the hand... what does it mean? Perhaps a signal towards the next chapter?
Yes, Robert's longing so much more palpable. As to the last paragraph, yes somewhat elliptical and unconscious in his mind. What I hoped to achieve there is that doors are opening for Robert with his finger on the door of discovery about Lena and himself.
I guessed that it was Robert's own finger, but in that moment wasn't sure whether it was, perhaps, a childhood memory, maybe connecting this present grief with another older wound, his own finger at a younger age...
Ah, at times, the creative process and what it reveals elude even the writer -- so perhaps you are correct.