Mine

‘Neither my hands nor my face were mine now. Nor perhaps the other parts. Nor perhaps my belongings. I tell a lie, they were mine but they were leaving me. Or rather I wanted them to leave me. Or should I say I wanted to leave them. That doesn’t seem to make sense. In a sense they were no longer mine and never had been, but I still wanted them. I was at the end of something, my tether, or rather your tether, but also at the beginning of something. At the end and beginning of your tether, that’s one way of putting it. If they perished in a fire, my belongings I mean, would I grieve? And me, if I perished, would you grieve?’

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