What is a Proustian Moment?
It Doesn't Come Quietly
I can't find the words, but here I am, and here's where I am, lost in a century of silence. I'm struggling with a flickering tongue, and my mouth is flooding from the inside out, so let's go.
Why was this day all about you? Who are you to me? Why are we spending our time on this dance? Why does your name have so much power over me, as if it were written on my heart before we ever met?