Lucky.

Finished reading Lucky by Alice Sebold for the nth time last night. I still can't read every word of Chapter 1. I still cry in the same parts (we're talking hagulgol mode here). I still marvel at how the truly gifted can write about the truly painful with such grace and clarity. I still feel lucky every time I put it down.

"He knew...that memory could save, that it had power, that it was often the only recourse of the oppressed, the powerless, or the brutalized."