Anne Enright: Diary

Created
Fri, 28/07/2023 - 00:00
Updated
Fri, 28/07/2023 - 00:00
Like all these early, insect-calling flowers, the smell held some intimation of meat and rot, despite which it was intoxicating. Some dull part of my brain had been woken by the realisation that I was alive, a fact that was constantly announcing itself, I am alive I am alive.