Throughout the essay, as the writer reflects on a friend's long-planned suicide, wonderful explorations of narratives occur, as well as the people in the world who seem to live lives worthy of stories.
"I read once about how much, as a species, we rely on patterns. The world is full of too much and without patterns we wouldn't see, say, a leopard face in the fauna, or a bullet, or an oncoming train. People who see more patterns than others we might call spiritual, or schizophrenic, or writers."
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The final lines of the essay, in which the writer turns inward and explores, are among some of the best I've read.
Read this essay.
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