I was overtaken by that same excitement babies display when they confirm their existence in a mirror.
It wasn’t my habit to take things that didn’t belong to me. Just sometimes, some things. Sometimes quite a lot of things. But when I saw that small, dead tree on Owen’s roof, it seemed to me that I had to take it home, care for it, at least for the rest of the winter. Later, perhaps when spring came around again, I could return it to the roof. It was getting darker. I made my way to the door, carrying the pot, ready to go home. But the door had no handle on the outside and I could find no way to open it.
– Valeria Luiselli, Faces in the Crowd