But sometimes the world disrobes, slips its dress off a shoulder, stops time for a beat. If we look up at that moment, it’s not due to any ability of ours to pierce the darkness, it’s the world’s brief bestowal. The catastrophe of grace […] We think that change occurs suddenly, but even I have learned better. Happiness is wild and arbitrary, but it’s not sudden.
In Michaela’s favourite restaurant, I lift my glass and cutlery spills onto the expensive tiled floor. The sound crashes as high as the skylight. Looking at me, Michaela pushes her own silverware over the edge.
I fell in love amid the clattering of spoons… .Anne Michaels, Fugitive Pieces (via letters-to-nobody)