The repetitions of my life—days, stories, conversations, sounds, meals, images, kisses, hugs, dreams—are like interlocking houndsteeth, but somehow unbound by form, unbridled by geometry.
Studied psychology and writing, works at a design firm. Film junkie, amateur photographer. (’16)
by Jack Van Allsburg | Jun 25, 2017
But that Saturday, while I was still in bed, I got another call from my mom. I knew from her first word the reason she was calling. Very early that morning, my grandfather had died in his sleep. I wept.