She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.
She’s never where she is,' I said. 'She’s only inside her head.
It was only natural to want to destroy something you could never have.
We have no home, she told me. I am your home.
But I knew one more thing. That people w ho denied who they were or where they had been were in the greatest danger.
Do you ever want to go home?' I asked Paul. He brushed an ash from my face. 'It's the century of the displaced person,' he said. 'You can never go home.