Anatomy

I check my heart now, and I find that there is still a feeling there, of something hot and struggling.

I roll my eyes back under my closed lids, and there is the sense of opening in the middle of my forehead.

The chest thing is like fighting for words and the forehead thing is pure and empty, like after all the words have been said.

There now.

Belief. I have the biology of it. All I need is the stuff to put in there. All I need are the words.

The Gathering by Anne Enright (2007)