lost in translation | 2011-01-19
I wanted to be her north star. I wanted to be her map. I wanted to drink coffee with her in the cafes in the mornings and do things, as you do, as she did, instead of just philosophizing about them and deconstructing their endless Russin-doll layers of meaning. I was alone before I met her. I wanted to disappear with her, and fold her into my life. I wanted to be her compass. I wanted to be her last speaker, her interpreter, her language. I wanted to be her translator, Zed, but none of the laguages we knew were the same.
- from Last Night in Montreal by Emily St. John Mandel